


What They Could Have Had (And Now It's Ours)

by Froggyflan



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Eventual Smut, Fake Science, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, I'm just kidding, Kid Fic, M/M, Pining, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Spock single-handedly repopulating the Vulcan Species, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 12:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19132348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggyflan/pseuds/Froggyflan
Summary: “Stel, Spock and I aren’t like the ambassador and his Jim. We aren’t romantically involved.”“But you will be.”---Spock leaves Starfleet to assist in rebuilding New Vulcan. Jim chases him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my first multi-chapter fic for Star Trek and I am as excited as I am nervous.
> 
> Beta'd by [Slashisfamilyhistory](https://slashisfamilyhistory.tumblr.com/)

_ To whom it may concern, _

_ This letter serves as notification that I, S’chn T’gai Spock, hereby resign my current position as first officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise. The required documents will be filed shortly. All inquiries may be directed through this communication channel. _

_ I wish to formally thank both Starfleet and the crew of the Enterprise for both an enlightening and edifying experience, as is customary in a resignation letter. _

_ S’chn T’Gai Spock _

It had felt like a kick in the nuts.

He’d read it and then read it again and then, just to be sure, he read it again. The words had felt cold and empty as they hit his eyes and wormed their way into his head.

He wasn’t coming back.

It wasn’t unexpected though, was it? After Yorktown, Spock had been clearly upset over the death of the ambassador, or as clearly as Spock could be with his emotions. After the destruction of Vulcan, it had seemed he’d been seconds from resigning but something,  _ something _ , had kept him on the Enterprise. Jim could still remember how relieved he’d been when Spock had sent him his reinstatement request after all was said and done. The promise he had heard whispered in his mind by the ambassador, of friendship and loyalty and affection, was still there. They still had a chance.

And now it was all slipping through his fingers.

He couldn’t tether Spock to him and it wasn’t for lack of trying; no amount of late night chess or paperwork pow wows had been enough to stop Spock from leaving him for New Vulcan. This was a duty, maybe even a destiny for all he knew. And who was he to stop him? He’d be an asshole if he kept Spock from doing what he and everyone else knew was important. This was a matter of keeping an entire species alive.

Jim had just hoped that they wouldn’t need Spock’s help. Maybe, he had hoped, Spock would see that he needed him more than New Vulcan needed him. He’d quickly quashed that thought as quickly -and often- as it came up; it was too embarrassing.

He’d given Spock his space after he learned about the ambassador. He knew Spock wouldn’t take kindly to the signature Kirk style of grieving- which consisted of drinking until you couldn’t think anymore. Uhura had tried the soft words and physical comfort approach and he’d pushed her away so fast it had made Jim’s head spin. One morning they were dating and by lunch he was hearing the gossip about their break up. So Jim did what he knew Spock wanted, what he thought he needed; he gave him leave while the Enterprise was being rebuilt, let him go to the only place he thought he could find some idea of peace. If you love something and all that.

He had foolishly assumed Spock would come back afterward.

But that was seven months ago. The Enterprise was nearly ready for her christening and it never even crossed Jim’s mind that Spock wouldn’t be there for it. He’d been so tempted to message him about the refitting details, what improvements were being made, all the things Scotty had been beaming about. He wanted to tell Spock about all the fun things he was doing on Earth, maybe sneak in a hint or two about how he wished he was there. He’d almost asked him to come back for Bones’ birthday just so he could stop that niggling lonely feeling in the back of his head every time he went to a party and there was that empty spot next to him where Spock was supposed to stand, supposed to be the wallflower that Jim relied on to keep things interesting, supposed to talk to him in hushed murmurs about how illogical it was to celebrate the anniversary of a birth that the person in question had no influence in.

But he hadn’t. He kept everything to himself because Spock was going through something personal and he didn’t want to distract him. But it still stung that Spock never made any of his own attempts to reach out to him, as much of a double standard as that was. And now he was finding out about his resignation through Starfleet regulation email. Not even a call.

Jim knew he wouldn’t be able to reply to the resignation without it coming off as overly emotional or rampant with curse words, neither of which Spock would appreciate. And that would only make things worse; he didn’t want to solidify Spock’s reasons to leave, whatever they were -though Jim could guess-. But he still needed answers.

No, his response would need to be made in person.

And that’s exactly how Jim found himself on the next space flight to New Vulcan. It was only when he was halfway there that it really sunk in what an absolutely terrible idea it was.

What was he planning on doing once he got there? Where would he go? He hadn’t even practiced what he was going to say when -no, if- he found Spock. He’d thought he could just wing it like he always does and it’d work out eventually. He may have been classified as a genius, but in that moment, strapped in and hurtling through space, he felt immensely stupid and under prepared.

Jim ran a comforting hand over his face, settling over his lips. Alright, it wouldn’t be that bad. He could find Spock easily enough. He certainly had his own degree of fame and recognition, especially among Vulcans. Maybe he could just ask and someone would know. Maybe the Vulcans had gifted him a garish mansion that stood out like a sore thumb. And if all else failed, he could just go to the council and find Sarek. ‘Oh hello sir, I know the last time you saw me was five years ago when I was verbally assaulting your son about your dead wife, but I’ve changed, so we’re good now, right? Speaking of your son, is he around here?’

He let out a breath and a groan followed. He could do this; he needed to do this. He couldn’t just let Spock go, at least without some sort of closure. He’d put too much into making them the best team in Starfleet, too much into making Spock like him when he honestly shouldn’t have, all things considered. And maybe that’s why it was so easy for Spock to drop him like a rock. Maybe Jim was just imagining that they made a good pair and Spock was just enduring under obligation.

Nope, no. No. Jim sat there, chin in his palm, and stared at the stars whipping past in lines of white light. They were friends. He hadn’t even noticed how quickly they’d gone from tense and awkward to open and practically chummy when the actual five year mission started. Spock would tell Jim about Vulcan and Jim would tell Spock about Iowa. They’d spend nights in the observatory deck and watch the stars cruise by at warp speed and think whatever they went through today was nothing compared to what they’d gone through together. They trusted each other with anything, with everything, he’d thought.

And that’s exactly why this hurt so much.

He was acting like this was a break-up. It kind of was, in its own way. He’d been dumped by his righteously duty-bound first officer and now he’s running after him to beg him to leave his family and his tradition for  _ him _ . It’s not inaccurate, and that brings up some weird feelings he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on them long enough to stick, as the shuttle was already landing and passengers were shuffling around to disembark. Jim threw his duffel over his shoulder and stepped toward the doors. As soon as they opened, he was hit in the face with a burst of intense light and a burning breeze.

God, it was hot.

The orange sands swallowed up the soles of his boots as he took his first step. It felt like the deserts on Earth, a strong heat like the inside of an antique conventional oven. If he recalled what Spock had mentioned about Vulcan, the air had been thin and the gravity intense, but he could breathe just fine and didn’t feel any heavier. It was just so damn hot. He was still in the shade of the shuttle doors and it already felt like his clothes had melted to his skin. He had to hold a hand up over his eyes and blink for a moment before he could even really see anything beyond the earthy colors swirling in his blurry eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that the buildings were tall and foreboding, jagged and intimidating, in every conceivable shade of brown. It was all incredibly Vulcan. They’d been quick in establishing their capital and he could even see the edges of the grand city still being constructed. It looked just like any metropolitan city on Earth, but with undoubtedly better planning and perfect zoning. Hovercars buzzed carefully through impeccably gridded streets and the sidewalks looked clean enough to eat off of, despite all the sand surrounding them. Craggy mountains loomed angrily to the south and if Jim were a little less human, he might have been able to look up at the two fiercely burning suns framing the orange-red sky. He’d take the travel brochure’s word for it.

After taking in the scenery, Jim looked out at the transport station and realized he was being watched intently by the locals. Too many dark, unreadable eyes stared at him unblinkingly as they moved around him, not stopping their business but definitely giving him more attention than he was used to. He was suddenly aware that he was the only non-Vulcan in a sea of black hair and pointed ears and he felt very alien. They peered at him with what he’d politely call curiosity, but was definitely closer to disdain. It looked better on Spock. Jim had once said so, telling him that excitement was a good color on him, to which he had been told that Vulcans do not feel excitement, only scientific curiosity. At least that had been Spock’s excuse any time Jim commented on the sparkle in his eyes whenever he worked with the previously unknown. “Fascinating” was rarely ever said without an inflection of awe. But no, these Vulcans, ones who were not his half-human first officer, were looking at him with a blank awareness, studying him for every tidbit of information he had. They were processing him.

Brushing off the discomfort of being thoroughly gawked at, Jim steeled himself and set about locating the directory. As soon as he stepped out of the shade of the shuttle, he felt like this might be what finally does him in. The direct sunlight was practically cooking him. Thankfully, it only took a few moments to find the large standing display and it had a large, merciful overhang. He breathed a sigh of relief as he met the shade again and started browsing through the information.

He knew it wouldn’t have private addresses listed, but it had a thorough map of the city. It was bigger than he thought it would be; he had underestimated Vulcan perseverance and efficiency. All major public buildings were methodically focused in the center and that was where he would find the council. Jim honestly hoped he wouldn’t have to seek out Sarek, but if Spock was as important to New Vulcan as he thought he was, he would find him there too.

The transport station was only a kilometer or so from the main district. Going out under the suns -two of them!- again wasn’t a great feeling, but since he was already so close, he assumed it wouldn’t be so bad. He was wrong, of course. By the third block, he felt like his skin was ready to start blistering and his boots might melt into the pavement. He must have looked like a greasy feverish maniac. And as he passed more and more perfectly immaculate Vulcans, going about their days without a single hair out of place, Jim had never been more jealous of their resilience.

“James Tiberius Kirk.”

There was a woman speaking to him. She was regal, with long dark hair piled up with pearls and pins and long ears heavy with jewels. She had the same emotionless disposition as all the other Vulcans, but Jim couldn’t help but stare at the utter roundness of her stomach. She looked like she was ready to pop.

“That’s me,” he said, pushing droopy sweat-matted hair up his forehead with one hand and offering the ta’al with the other; he felt like a peasant in the presence of royalty. She only nodded gently.

“You are here for Spock.”

It couldn’t possibly be that easy. Jim was planning on wandering around for hours on this search and rescue mission he’d made for himself and now he had all the answers right in front of him. He eyed her suspiciously. 

“How did you know?”

“There is no other reason for you to be on New Vulcan.”

Maybe I’m on vacation, Jim wanted to tell her. He could get away with teasing Spock, but he doubted any other Vulcan would humor him as he does. So Jim gave her one of his award-winning smiles, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate that either. “You got me. You know where I can find him?”

“Follow me.”

She turned and walked with her head held high. Despite the severity of her stomach, there were no signs of discomfort or difficulty in her stride, not even a hint of a waddle. She was incredibly elegant; Jim walked ever so slightly behind her so she wouldn’t have to see his weak human body reacting to the heat currently liquefying him.

“How do you know who I am?”

“You are the Starfleet captain who attempted to save Vulcan. Everyone on this planet knows of you.”

‘Attempted’ still stung a little. He could have saved it if he’d been a little more careful, had a little more time, figured things out sooner. He’d gotten over the ‘what ifs’ years ago, even if it had taken a lot of time and more than a few drinking nights with Bones. But as they passed more Vulcans on the street and they examined him thoroughly, Jim felt that crushing guilt all over again. Seeing it all, the faces of an endangered species and the hard work they were doing to build an entire society from scratch, was much worse than just imagining it from behind a bottle of whiskey. He was some sort of war hero and he’d let them all down.

Jesus, that was depressing. His shirt was practically dripping and his pants were chafing against his wet thighs. He hoped they weren’t far. His head pulsed and his throat felt like he’d swallowed a handful of sand, but he spoke anyway.

“How do you know Spock?”

She didn’t answer right away and he knew it was a dumb question. If they all knew him, how could they not know Spock? Jim tried to rub the sweat out of his eyes but it just made them burn.

“He has been essential in our reproductive efforts.”

He nearly tripped over his own foot.

“Excuse me?”

She turned her head to the side as she continued forward, speaking slightly louder. “He has been essential in our reproductive efforts.”

He wasn’t sure how to take that. What does that even mean? His thoughts were going around in circles as he tried to process it. He couldn’t help but zone back down to the stomach bulging under her thin flowing dress.

Was it his? Was this woman his wife?

He was delirious; it must have been a mix of the overwhelming heat and that vague little bombshell this woman had dropped on him. His body was getting sluggish as his mind worked itself into knots trying to figure out what he’d just discovered, what he would even say to Spock once he saw him: ‘You don’t want to come back to the Enterprise because you’re too busy getting  _ laid _ ?’

She said something to him, but it was as if he was underwater and everything was muffled. Oh, he was definitely feeling something coming on. Nausea, maybe. He’d stumbled again and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything as quickly as he should have. But they had made their way past the main district, deep into the residential areas where the smooth industrial streets faded back into sand and rock. The woman led him toward a big house nestled right into the high dunes, as if it had burst from the red soil and was cut to shape. As expected, they had certainly given Spock some fine real estate.

They reached a door, but at that point, Jim couldn’t see straight. His skin felt too hot and there was a deep thrumming headache that was becoming more apparent with each passing second. There was a calculated knock, a gentle creaking sound, and there was Spock with his perfect hair and perfect eyebrows. He looked surprised, barely even a twitch on his face, but it truly dawned on Jim how scandalously emotional Spock must seem compared to other Vulcans. His dark eyes were burning into Jim with something he couldn’t really figure out, even though he’d spent ages learning how to read him and find his tells. Maybe Spock was angry, which, to be fair, was totally justified. He’d showed up uninvited, uncomposed, which was probably a thousand times more rude to a Vulcan than a human. Spock opened his mouth and said something; his name was part of the jumble of sounds, he knew that much. Jim needed to say hello. He couldn’t just stand there and stare at Spock all day. He had to explain why he was here, had to ask why he left. He had to convince him to come home. 

“Can I come in?” is what Jim meant to say because he assumed Spock had some sort of air conditioning system and maybe just a cup of water. It probably didn’t come out that way because they were both staring at him oddly and Spock had this look on his face that he’d missed so goddamn much. When did he start missing him so much? But then everything was turning around too fast and suddenly he was looking up at the orange-red sky with the two angry suns and he had to close his eyes or be blinded. There was a scalding hand touching his face, his neck, and it hurt, but he couldn’t find the energy to remove it. 

Jim laid back and he was fine.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim woke up on a sofa that shouldn’t have been so soft.

He rolled his head to the side and blinked back the haziness. He was at Spock’s house; that was the last thing he remembered, at least. Looking around, he took in the utilitarian emptiness of it, save for a few hanging planters, a shelf of trinkets, and an ancient spear displayed on the wall in red silks and tassels. There was a faint smell of spicy incense, and the heavy curtains over the large window changed the harsh yellow sunlight into a tender grey. Everything was clean and quiet and perfect; definitely Spock’s house.

Jim tore himself away from the inviting sleeping place, pulling back the thin white sheet and pressing his feet to the cool hardwood floor. His head screamed at him to stop, to move more slowly, go back to sleep. He touched his temples and felt the uncomfortable warmth of a sunburn. He must have looked like an absolute mess, but at least he wasn’t baking anymore. The air was cold and refreshing, but the sweat had dried to him like a full-body film and left him feeling salty.

“Please do not get up.”

His eyes lifted carefully to see Spock emerge from the open kitchen around the corner, a glass of water in one hand and a hypo in the other. He groaned and took the offered water, drinking it as quickly as he could without drowning. The hypo was deposited gently into his other hand.

“A pain reducer,” Spock explained. It could have been poison and Jim still would have taken it. He pulled back the collar of his shirt, pressed it to his skin gingerly, and felt the ache disappear.

“Thanks,” Jim sighed. Spock only stared at him.

“You had not considered the climate before traveling here?”

“I did, I just thought I could take it.”

“You have resided in San Francisco for 213.8 days. You could not possibly acclimate to these temperatures instantaneously.”

“Yeah well,” Jim started, but couldn’t come up with a good enough reason. Coming here was important, he wanted to say. He knew it was rash of him to just jump across space by a few lightyears to visit unexpectedly, but he had to. He just had to be here, to see him again, but he didn’t want to tell Spock that.

Spock watched him, waiting for Jim to finish, but they remained in silence. Jim could hear the faint tinkling of a bell somewhere, maybe a windchime.

“You are aware of my resignation.”

Straight to the point as always. “Yeah.”

“Then you are here to attempt to dissuade me.”

Jim’s hands flew up in frustration. “Obviously! I mean, what the hell, Spock? You didn’t even tell me!”

“That was the purpose of the resignation message.”

“You didn’t tell _ me _ !”

Spock did that little head twitch, the one that meant he was processing. “I was not aware I was required to disclose the resignation to you privately prior to the official announcement.”

“No, but as your friend, I would have liked to know beforehand!”

“Please lower your volume,” Spock said, turning slightly to the entrance of a darkened hallway. They were both silent for a moment and Spock seemed to be listening for something. “I apologize if I have shown any impropriety or caused you distress. It was not my intention.”

“Is,” Jim followed Spock’s eyes, “is someone here with you?

Spock looked back at him with dark, narrow eyes, ignoring the question. “My involvement in establishing New Vulcan is essential and I am unable to return to my duties on the Enterprise.”

So they weren’t alone, then. Was it the woman from before? “Oh, I heard about that. Reproductive efforts, right?”

Spock stiffened and there it was. Jim still knew how to push all his buttons. “That is correct.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I do not.”

“So who was that woman, your girlfriend? Is she part of your reproductive efforts?”

“This is highly inappropriate.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think? You’re being obtuse.”

“I understand you are unwilling to accept this, but acceptance is the most logical option. I will not return to the Enterprise.”

“What could you possibly be doing here that is so important?”

“I will not allow you to continue to deride the work I am doing for my people.”

“Then enlighten me!”

“Sa-mekh?”

It was a tiny inquisitive voice and they both turned to it so fast their necks nearly snapped. 

A boy clutched at the door frame. He couldn’t be more than five and was the spitting image of his first officer, with pointed eyebrows that barely concealed their expressiveness and curiosity unbound in those wondering eyes. Suddenly there was a lump in Jim’s throat. The boy was staring right at him and Jim was staring right back. He couldn’t find the ability to blink.

“Stel,” Spock downright whispered and the gentleness in his voice hit Jim hard in the chest, “I will be with you momentarily.”

The boy seemed reluctant to leave as if he were truly studying everything about Jim, memorizing him. But he slowly drew away, slipping back into the hallway.

After the quiet padding of little bare feet against the hardwood floor faded, the silence was deafening. Jim’s heart was racing and his mouth refused to close. Spock looked like was trying to be cold and distant, but something in the furrow of his eyebrows and the tightness of his lips said otherwise. Jim licked his own lips nervously.

“He’s-”

“Captain,” Spock interrupted, holding a firm hand up in absolution, none of the usual fondness in the title, “I request that you allow me a moment to attend Stel. Please feel free to use the facilities located down the hallway to the left. I recommend you utilize the shower. I have already moved your belongings to the guestroom to the right of the refresher. We will reconvene here in approximately fifteen minutes to discuss the current situation.”

Before Jim could say anything else, Spock was gliding out of the room. Then there was the sound of a door closing, followed by nothing.

Well.

Jim planted his face in both of his hands and groaned. What was even going on? The kid was obviously Spock’s. Had he really been spending all this time on “reproductive efforts” plural, or just the one? Spock, who he would bet a hefty sum of credits had never gone past first base, was a dad.

He stood on shaky legs to go take a much-needed shower. He didn’t want to keep letting his mind run rampant, especially when Spock had already said he’d explain everything to him. He’d already done plenty of assuming.

It was only a few minutes to get all the sweat and sand off his body in the sonic. He would give anything for the feel of a real shower, for cool water to soothe his overheated skin, but that was a lot to ask for on a desert planet. By the time he dressed and returned to the living room, Spock was in the kitchen retrieving another cold glass of water for him and a steaming cup of tea for himself.

“Please,” Spock said as he gestured to the sofa. Jim took the right side and Spock took the left, leaving a professional -but entirely unnecessary, as far as he was concerned- gap between them.

Jim wasn’t sure if he wanted to start, but Spock obviously never wanted or intended to have this conversation with him anyway. He watched Spock’s fingers rub absently at the slightly raised pattern etched into his cup and knew he’d have to force this. He squirmed uncomfortably in the cushion that previously had felt like heaven.

“So,” Jim murmured, “he’s yours?”

Spock did not react beyond blinking and staring straight forward. “He is.”

Jim hoped this wouldn’t just be him talking at Spock and receiving clipped, unhelpful responses, but Spock continued.

“After the destruction of Vulcan, the number of surviving individuals was estimated at 10,000. In the months that followed, the approximate census was measured at 12,983, with 64% being female and 36% being male. Of the male population, only 72% were considered capable of reproducing, and of the female population, 79%.”

That was a lot to take in. Spock gave Jim a moment to process it, taking a sip of his tea.

“Immediate action was taken when the colony was established. All fertile males were required to donate seminal samples toward the repopulation effort. While I had assumed I was infertile due to my hybrid status, it was determined that my unique DNA was quite viable. My samples were 23% more effective than my peers. Upon studying the successful fertilizations, it was concluded that not only are humans more fertile than Vulcans, but human DNA is more receptive to invitro-fertilization than Vulcan DNA by 49%. Since I am the only known human-Vulcan hybrid, my samples have been in great demand.”

“So you’re telling me everybody wants in your pants?”

Spock would have made a disgusted face if he were not so very Vulcan. “Sexual intercourse is not required. As a hybrid, I would never be able to conceive naturally.”

“And all the prissy Vulcans are okay with having more hybrids like you?”

“Any children conceived using my samples would be 96.8% Vulcan, as my DNA is already 79.67% Vulcan. Through continued breeding with Vulcans, the percentage of human DNA would be negligible within two generations.”

How logical, Jim thought.

“Out of necessity, my people have become more receptive to interspecies breeding. It will take considerable more time for my people to change a paradigm that has existed for centuries, but I find my achievements as a hybrid have been persuasive.”

Jim couldn’t help but smile. Spock deserved to be heralded as a hero, especially after all the things he’d been told about his childhood. It wouldn’t be like that for these kids and that was clearly important to him. Jim leaned back comfortably.

“Gotta say, Spock, you made one cute kid.”

Spock took another sip of tea and nodded. “He is my eldest.”

“How many do you have?”

“Eighty-three.”

The glass slipped from Jim’s hand and crashed to the floor. It was only the cold splash against his bare feet that made him realize he’d dropped it at all. “Oh shit, sorry!”

“It is of no consequence,” Spock assured him, standing and moving into the kitchen to return with a dishtowel. Jim’s mind was still reeling as he watched Spock kneel and mop up the water; thankfully the glass hasn’t broken.

“Sorry. But I mean, eighty-three? You’re kidding, right?” Spock looked up briefly to indicate no, he was not, and yes, he was insulted that he would even suggest otherwise. The cloth tickled Jim’s feet and he lifted them out of Spock’s way. “That’s insane!”

“It is well within the bounds of both sanity and believability,” Spock answered, taking the glass and towel back to the kitchen. “As I previously explained, my samples are highly effective and therefore in great demand.”

“Doesn’t that kind of throw off the gene pool?”

Spock returned to the sofa, sliding back into place as if nothing had happened. “Hardly. I am one of the last members of my bloodline, so my genetic profile was already rare. My samples are used primarily by bondmates unable to conceive or by those who already have children. They are supplementary.”

“Eighty-three,” he whispered, blinking up at the ceiling. He looked back at Spock with a mischievous smile. “I’m imagining an army of little Spocks.”

“It is illogical to assume they all resemble me precisely, as only half of my DNA would influence genetic variation. Furthermore, thirty-eight are female.”

“So,” he said with a small wrinkle of his nose, “little T’Spocks.”

“That is not-” Spock started, but must have decided that lecturing Jim on the intricacies of naming children based on familial and cultural significance was a lost cause. Jim laughed and leaned in a little closer.

“Alright, so you’re a dad now. That must be interesting.”

Spock seemed to sit straighter, posture tighter, and a quiet breath escaped him. “It is not something I was prepared for.”

Jim was confused. “What do you mean?”

Silence found them again and the apprehension was palpable. The hands cradling the cup of tea seemed to turn to stone.

"Stel was a product of the first sample. I was asked if I wished to retain parental rights, as the surrogate would be making him available for adoption. I had no intention of rearing children, however, my counterpart was eager to take my place."

"The ambassador adopted Stel."

Spock nodded. "He raised Stel from birth and remained his sole provider until his death. My father cared for Stel until I could assume the ambassador’s position.”

“Position”, as if fatherhood was just an interchangeable title. Jim wanted to think that Spock was being cold-hearted, but he knew he wasn’t wrong. Donors weren’t supposed to be involved; that was the point. He had said he didn’t want any kids and now he had one anyway. Jim felt nervously restless again. No wonder Spock didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Why can’t your dad take care of him like before?”

Spock eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. “Stel refused.”                                     

“Refused,” Jim parroted. Spock let out the Vulcan equivalent of a heavy sigh, which was just an unnecessary exhale.

“He caused enough disturbances that my father requested my assistance.”

Jim grinned at the idea of a toddler throwing a temper tantrum strong enough to have Sarek call for help. He wondered if Vulcan babies were as temperamental as human babies or if they had somehow evolved beyond all that and they just came into the world perfect and quiet and in control of their emotions.

“He seemed  _ well adjusted _ to me.”

“I have been his guardian for 203.3 days and I am no closer to understanding his behavior.”

Jim couldn’t hold in the laugh that wanted so badly to come out. “So you’re struggling with parenting, Spock?”

Of course Spock was insulted. “It is a challenge, but it is not insurmountable. The research I have conducted has proven ineffective and I must seek alternative instructions.”

Jim knew he shouldn’t be so amused by Spock’s plight, but it was getting the better of him. His perfect first officer was being bested by a mere toddler. Granted, parenting wasn’t exactly a cakewalk, but he had assumed Spock would excel in it like he did with everything else. Jim shook his head.

“Spock, you can’t just raise a kid with a manual. It’s a trial and error kind of thing.”

“Surak’s scriptures pertaining to rearing children are definitive and has been the sole discipline for centuries. Every Vulcan is raised by this method.”

“Even you?”

“Yes,”

“And your mother had nothing to input?”

Spock blinked and after a moment looked to Jim. “She had her own disciplines.”

Jim’s grin only grew wider. “And I’m sure her disciplines had nothing to do with how much of a rebel you turned out to be.”

“While I do not agree with the term you have used to describe me, her tutelage did leave lasting impressions of open-mindedness that my peers failed to acquire.” 

Jim laughed. He knew Spock hadn’t been the perfect Vulcan child. He remembered the stories he’d been told about the schoolyard fights and turning down the VSA. His mother must have been so happy to have such a passionate child. Sarek, he imagined, must have lost his proper Vulcan mind over it. If anything, Spock’s own experiences proved that parenting was more complicated than just following a set of rules. And Jim Kirk knew a thing or two about not following rules.

“Hey, I can help, if you want.”

Spock was quick to give Jim the blank reprimanding look he knew all too well. “That would be unwise.”

“Oh come on, I can handle kids.”

“I explicitly recall you mentioning your strong dislike for children following the incident on Corot 13.”

“Yeah, because those kids were awful! Plus they were practically teenagers, so that doesn’t count. Toddlers are easy.”

“Captain,” Spock started to admonish, but Jim waved his hand.

“Spock, if whatever you’re doing isn’t working, it probably just needs a little human help. And I’m the most human guy I know.”

“I fail to see how a human influence would be beneficial for a Vulcan upbringing.”

“It isn’t and that’s why you need it.”

Spock’s lips thinned minutely. Jim had been worried that he wouldn’t be able to get through to him, but he seemed to be just as talented as ever at that. He smiled in earnest.

“Come on, it wouldn’t  _ hurt  _ to try. At least let me congratulate the kid. Not just anyone can defeat my first officer.”

“You are finding enjoyment at my expense.”

“I would never.”

Spock hesitated, but eventually stood and looked down at him. “I ask that you behave yourself.”

Jim jumped up to follow. “As always, commander.”

They moved down the darkened hallway to an open door and Jim watched as Spock stood impossibly straighter, his hands behind his back in a formal parade rest. Jim wasn’t sure what was more incredible, that Spock was trying to impress upon his child that level of emotional control, or that Spock was so open and comfortable around Jim that he had to adjust himself in the first place. The smile on his face felt warm.

Stel’s room was just as plain as the rest of the house except with the barest hints that it was, in fact, a child’s room. The plush bed was much too big for a boy his age, but it was adorned with an entirely excessive amount of cushions and pillows and a single stuffed toy that resembled a bear, but with fangs. There was a lone crayon drawing pinned to the wall and a poster charting the stars surrounding New Vulcan. Stel sat at his desk, PADD in hand, and kicked his feet as he poked and swiped at a colorful flashing game. It may not have been very becoming of a Vulcan, but it was entirely ordinary for a child. 

As they stood in the doorway, Stel’s eyes turned to them and locked onto Jim like a beacon. This odd child, with the same face his first officer must have had when he was young, looked as if he could see right into him. Jim had never known Vulcans to be soulful, but those dark brown eyes were so different. Just like Spock’s, they gave too much away.

“Stel, this is Captain James T Kirk.”

Stel whirled on Jim, desperate and awestruck, too passionate for his species, as something snapped in that too-tender face. Something changed so violently that Stel dropped his PADD as if it had bitten him and flung himself from his tiny chair. He looked at Jim like he knew him, knew everything about him. His little lips trembled and his hands curled into fists, just an absolute mess of obvious hurt. Jim’s body turned to steel and his feet rooted to the floor at the sight of so much distress.

Stel rushed him, slamming into his legs and wrapping his arms around the back of his knees. Even a baby Vulcan was strong, it seemed, because when Stel squeezed, Jim definitely felt it. He clung to Jim as if he were the only thing keeping him alive and his young voice warbled, loud and raw in a sob that threatened to break him into pieces.

“Jim!”


	3. Chapter 3

Jim turned to Spock, who looked absolutely horrified.

The small child wound around Jim’s legs shook and cried and blubbered, gripping at his pants as if he could tear holes in them. Jim was trapped and unsure of what to do. He hadn’t expected such an explosion of emotion from this little Vulcan, especially not directed towards him. He didn’t know where to put his hands, if he should maybe try to soothe him as his mother always had with gentle touches to his back, or try to pry him off. Judging by his barely suppressed expression, Spock was just as helpless.

“It’s alright,” Jim said quietly, attempting to soothe both uneasy Vulcans. He slowly pressed a hand onto Stel’s smooth black hair. “Hey, it’s alright.”

Little shoulders jumped with each watery hiccup, but one of Stel’s hands released Jim’s leg to pointlessly wipe at his eyes; the tears just kept coming. Jim pressed his other hand to Stel’s shoulder, pushing it gently away and allowing him to kneel down. Now that they were at the same eye level, Stel seemed eager to speak, but his troubled gasps kept him speechless. Jim waited patiently for the sniffles to die away and offered his best smile. “How do you know I go by Jim?”

Stel continued to rub at his eyes, rimmed dark green and bloodshot. His voice rasped, quiet and desperate. “Sa-mekh.”

As soon as the word left his mouth, the tears returned and Stel grimaced as if he couldn’t hold them back. Jim chanced a glance at Spock, who watched them with unblinking fascination.

“I have never informed Stel of my association with you,” Spock said.

That certainly hurt a little. Spock had been taking care of this kid for the last seven months and had never mentioned him? The progress he’d thought they’d made suddenly felt a bit lacking.

“No,” Stel piped up, and then there was frustration underneath all those tears. “ _My_ Sa-mekh.”

The ambassador. Jim frowned despite wanting to stay cheery and helpful, and Stel moved forward, bringing his arms around Jim’s neck and pressing his wet face into his collarbone. He wasn’t happy about his shirt being covered in snot, but the overwhelming need for contact that radiated from the boy put that thought to bed. Jim hesitantly brought his own arms around Stel and it was a strange feeling. His body was too small, too fragile; Jim couldn’t remember if he’d ever even hugged a kid before. It wasn’t terrible.

Though after a long moment of Stel blubbering into his shirt, which was starting to stick to his skin, Jim felt awkward. Spock was still staring at them like he’d just been smacked and Stel was starting to sag to the floor. Jim brought a hand up to tug at the fists clasped at the back of his neck. “Alright, Stel, come on.”

“Captain,” Spock interrupted gently, stepping closer. “I request that you do not remove Stel from your person.”

Jim looked up over the dark head of hair in front of his face. “What?”

“He has refused all physical contact since I assumed my position.”

Oh. Jim felt Stel tighten and bury himself closer. This was special, then. He moved his arms around the boy again, holding him firmly as he stood from his aching kneel. As small as the boy looked, he still had heavy Vulcan bones, but again, it wasn’t terrible. Stel’s legs snapped to either side of Jim’s waist, clinging to him like a baby animal.

“I thought Vulcans didn’t like to touch,” Jim murmured carefully. Spock had dropped his surprised look to replace it with something softer.

“They do not partake in it casually. However, physical contact is necessary for children in their formative period to properly bond with family members.”

Jim didn’t want to admit he might have liked being cuddled like a lifeline. It made him feel important. Not important like a starship captain, but something more personal. Jim’s arms crossed underneath Stel like a shelf to sit on, shifting him to make the position more comfortable. Stel’s snuffling breath felt hot against his neck.

“I apologize,” Spock said into the silence that had found them, “I am taking advantage of your good nature. You are under no obligation to assist in this way.”

“No,” Jim stopped him, “No, it’s fine. Really.”

Spock was watching him, them, with a curious intensity. His eyebrows knitted tightly on his face and there was something there that Jim couldn’t quite pinpoint; it was in the slack of his shoulders, in the curl of his long fingers like he wanted to reach out, in the subtle movement of his mouth like he wanted to say something. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Spock wanted to hold Stel. But based on their conversation earlier, Spock didn’t seem too enthused about being a father. Why would he willingly want to be part of the emotional side of it?

Spock moved like he was physically tearing himself away from the moment, slow and painful, to Stel’s bed. He rearranged the disorganized pile of pillows and smoothed down the blankets before turning to him with a blank face.

“Please make yourself comfortable. I will be preparing dinner if you require my assistance.”

And like a ghost, he left the room so quickly his presence still lingered. Jim looked to the doorway, listening to his footsteps fade toward the kitchen, and felt thoroughly confused. That didn’t last long though, because the little body against his chest squirmed and sniffed. Right. He was supposed to be comforting him.

“Alright,” he whispered, taking the few steps to the bed and sitting on the edge. Just like the sofa, the bed was feather soft, sinking under him and inviting him to stay as long as possible. As utilitarian as Spock seemed, he certainly didn’t skimp on comfort. He moved his arms out from under Stel and let him drop to his lap, maneuvering his little body so both legs were draped over Jim’s thigh. Stel’s cheek pressed against Jim’s chest and he let out an unhappy noise as he was jostled about. Jim shushed him gently. “It’s okay.”

In truth, he was afraid. He hadn’t been around kids much, but even when he had he avoided them. He’d tried to refuse to hold or touch them, only talked to them when he had to. He didn’t want to be responsible for their well being, and he didn’t want to mess up. Which was stupid when he thought about it, because he was responsible for the well being of the 400 people living on the Enterprise and he sure as hell couldn’t mess that up either. But that was different; they were adults. Kids relied on their parents for everything and he couldn’t be someone’s entire universe. Besides, the Enterprise and his crew were _his_ universe, and though they depended on him, he depended on them too. He didn’t think he could give that up for anything.

But here he was, being snuggled by a creature _begging_ for attention, needing a kind of love that he’d never thought he could even give. He wasn’t sure how to go about talking to a kid. He’d never been versed in baby talk, but Stel was too old for that anyway. And as a Vulcan, he was probably as smart as someone twice his age. He could talk to him just like he would anyone else on his crew; well, except for Bones.

“It’s nice to meet you, Stel,” Jim said. The smooth black hair pressed to his cheek was incredibly soft, like rabbit fur. Stel moved a hand down to rub at his eyes again while the other continued to clutch at the back of Jim’s neck.

“Jim,” was whimpered against his heart and he couldn’t help the twinge he felt deep within. “I did not think I would meet you.”

“What do you mean?”

Stel pressed impossibly closer and Jim was inclined to move his arms around him, clasping his hands together at the small of the boy’s back. The warmth between them was comforting and strangely euphoric. He knew a thing or two about human brain chemistry. They’d evolved to be fond of children, rewarded by endorphins at the sight of them. They were biologically incentivized to care for them. Jim sort of hated that he was finally under that same influence.

“My Sa-mekh always spoke fondly of you. He said you would have loved me.”

Something inside Jim cracked like glass, could feel it shattering in his ears. He looked down and watched Stel reach into the high collar of his tunic, pulling out a weathered silver locket. His little fingers clawed at the edges of it, needing both hands to pry it open like an oyster. Jim’s breath caught in his throat so hard he thought he’d choke.

It was a picture of the ambassador, young and stoic in his science blues. He looked just like his Spock but with a few more years on him, lines around his mouth more prominent and the barest hint of wrinkles around his eyes. But standing next to him was a man in command gold with a bright sunshine smile and his arms wrapped lovingly around the ambassador’s waist. His eyes weren’t blue and his hair was in a different style, but he knew who that was. The resemblance was in the strong jaw, the confident demeanor, the daring look piercing the camera.

It was him in another life.

Jim inhaled sharply and felt his fingers clench together. His heart pounded and his eyes hurt from staring so hard.

He and Spock had been together in another life.

Stel sniffed and rubbed a single finger around the edge of the locket. “You look somewhat different from the picture.”

“Yeah,” Jim forced out past the lump in his throat. It was hard to breathe.

Spock, _either_ Spock, must have explained the whole time-space continuum and alternate reality situation to Stel. They had to have, in some way. Jim wanted to figure out what to say, but all he could do was stare at the hands gently cupped around the ambassador’s waist as if he were something precious. And even there, in that little picture of them, Jim could see the affectionate sparkle in the ambassador’s eyes. Spock’s eyes.

“You have come to live with sa-mekh,” Stel said.

Jim sighed, pulled from his thoughts. “No, I’m just visiting.”

“You are his Jim.”

God. He didn’t want to think about this right now. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No. I’m just Jim.”

“It is unlikely that you are ‘just Jim’.”

He looked down at Stel, who looked up at him with about as much hope and wonder as a Vulcan could portray. It was a sadly familiar sight and Jim felt a tug of his lips.

“I see the ambassador has left you with some of his wisdom.”

The boy raised his chin proudly. “My sa-mekh was most profound.”

“Oh, don’t I know it. Pretty sure he only ever spoke in riddles.”

“That is incorrect. His articulation was quite precise.”

Like father like son. Jim felt the tension in his bones fade away and he wanted so badly to lay back and be absorbed by the bed. He let his head fall forward slightly, his body curled around Stel.

“I guess you’re right.”

“I am,” Stel answered. “My sa-mekh was the most extraordinary person to have existed. No other could compare.”

“Not even Spock?”

Stel stiffened. “No. He is not like my sa-mekh.”

“How so?”

Stel closed the locket and rubbed a thumb over the ornate silver etchings. “He does not smile.”

There was that pang again, small and bleeding through him. “Vulcans aren’t exactly known for their smiles.”

“My sa-mekh always smiled. He said it is illogical to suppress the reactions associated with love.”

Jim did smile then. “That is wise. But maybe Spock hasn’t learned that lesson yet.”

Stel contemplated it for a moment before answering. “You will teach him.”

This kid was going to kill him. He just knew it. He forced his smile to stay put. “Shouldn’t you be teaching him? After all, you did learn from the best.”

Stel gave him another proud look. Jim would have assumed Stel wasn’t used to receiving compliments while living amongst Vulcans, not when the smallest amount of emotion was immediately cauterized. But considering the ambassador’s lack of Vulcan harshness, he would have spoiled him rotten.

“While you are correct in that aspect, it is not my place. My sa-mekh learned the lessons from his Jim. Therefore,  sa-mekh will learn from you.”

Jim really wasn’t ready for this kind of talk, especially coming from a kid way too smart for his years. “Stel, Spock and I aren’t like the ambassador and his Jim. We aren’t romantically involved.”

“But you will be.”

“Stel,” he started to argue, but he heard footsteps down the hall and Spock appeared a moment later in the doorway. Had he heard any of that? And even if he hadn’t, Jim couldn’t find it in himself to look him in the eye.

“Dinner has been prepared. Stel, please clean yourself.”

The boy slid out of his arms like a wiggling fish but stood up with all the poise of a true Vulcan. He nodded politely to Spock and left for the refresher. As Jim stood to follow, probably a little quicker than necessary, Spock spoke again.

“I recommend that you change your shirt.”

Jim looked down at the smear of snot Stel had left behind and sighed. Of course.

After a quick change and wash, they found themselves at the dinner table. It was kind of cute that Stel needed a boost to reach the table comfortably, two little cushions propping him up. He seemed more inclined to sit on his folded legs rather than on his bottom. Spock had laid out a very healthy looking spread, with bowls of vegetables, fruits, and a steaming dish of something that smelled alarmingly spicy. There was a single plate, however, that seemed to be just for Jim; roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas. It was a country meal for a farm boy.

“I presumed you have never partaken of Vulcan cuisine and I did not want to upset your palate, should you find it disagreeable,” Spock explained as he began to fill Stel’s plate. The boy looked excited by the angry red casserole that would probably fry Jim’s nose hairs off. “If you would like something else, the replicator is programmed with other common Earth recipes.”

“You know I’m all about cheeseburgers,” Jim teased but took the plate anyway. It reminded him of his mom’s dinners.

“I am well aware, hence why I did not supply you with one.”

Jim beamed. It’d been too long since he’d been subjected to his first officer’s humor. It hadn’t lost any of its magic; it still made Jim smile harder than anything else. Stel turned to him.

“What is a cheeseburger?”

Spock gave Stel a blank stare. Jim was glad he wasn’t the only one who had to endure those tepid looks.

“You wouldn’t be interested,” Jim said. “It’s greasy meat topped with greasy cheese and a greasy bun.”

“If it is something Jim enjoys, then it is likely I will also enjoy it.”

Oh, the heat had turned up in Spock’s fiery eyes. Jim couldn’t hold back the loud laugh that burst out of his mouth.

“Stel, you’re gonna make Spock lose his cool. Trust me, you wouldn’t like it.”

Stel pursed his lips and dug into his dinner. The rejection hadn’t dissuaded his curiosity in the least, it seemed, because moments later he turned to Jim again.

“What is it you are eating?”

Spock looked like he was about to reprimand Stel for bothering Jim and disturbing their meal, but Jim put up a gentle hand to stop him. He was by no means an expert on kids; this was the longest he’d ever even been in the same room as one. But he could handle an interrogation, albeit much more endearing and far less intimidating than he was used to. He wanted to help Spock with this parenting thing. And maybe teach him that lesson they’d discussed, his brain supplied unhelpfully.

“Chicken, potatoes, and peas. I bet you don’t have any of those things here.”

“You are correct. May I have some?”

Spock’s eyes were all over them. Jim smiled. “Maybe not the chicken. But hey, I’ll trade you some potatoes for whatever that is.”

He pointed to an innocuous pile of greens. He’d never been a lover of salad, but he’d take one for the team for Stel. And he may have been a little curious to taste Vulcan food, as it were.

“That would be agreeable,” Stel said.

Jim realized that Stel’s odd sitting position made it easier for him to reach across the table as he rudely stole a spoonful of mashed potatoes from Jim’s plate. Table manners, it seemed, had not been established quite yet. Or they had been and Stel was simply more inclined to disregard them.

Spock watched the way Stel conducted himself, the frustration clear as day. Jim gave him a guilty smile. Maybe he was being over-indulgent.

“What, no please and thank you’s?”

“Please and thank you,” Stel repeated. He took a bite of the potatoes and analyzed them. “It is an odd texture.”

“You should try all the other forms of potato. You’d be surprised by the creativity humans can put into a single vegetable,” Jim said as he pointed to Stel’s plate and beckoned. Stel politely deposited his own vegetables onto Jim’s; they looked like a cross between spinach and maple leaves and as Jim hesitantly tasted them, he couldn’t say he enjoyed the overwhelming bitter flavor. But he choked it down for the sake of being good company.

“I did warn you, captain,” Spock said as he watched Jim fight to swallow. But Jim smiled through it.

“You know me. I don’t listen.”

There was a hint of amusement, deep in the dark recesses of those warm eyes. It was probably his imagination, but he swore he could see the slightest upturn of Spock’s lips right at the corners, teasingly quick. “As is tradition.”

And there was that fluttering feeling in his chest that was becoming more and more prevalent, and that which he refused to acknowledge; the weird tingle that burst out his fingers and made them twitchy, made his skin feel hot. He looked Spock right in the eye and smiled with every little bit of himself he could give.

Stel watched them both intently but didn’t interrupt for the rest of dinner.

Jim wasn’t really sure what to do, once things had settled down for the night. Stel gave him a polite goodnight as Spock ushered him off to bed. Now that Stel was no longer around to distract him, and with the knowledge of their counterparts intimate relationship still so fresh in his mind, he found himself terrified of being alone with Spock. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to not spill it all and make things weird between them. He was here to convince Spock to come back with him and he didn’t want to make it more complicated than it already was.

So when Spock returned from tucking in Stel -his _son_ , he reminded himself-, the severity of the situation became stifling. And on top of that, Jim was struck dumb, taking in the sight of Spock comfortable in his own home, dressed in long flowing meditation robes with a high collar that accentuated his slender neck and pointed ears, looking so incredibly Vulcan and _stunning._ It made that weird something buzz and burn within him. He needed to stop staring and start talking.

“Hey,” Jim said, feeling a little tight in the throat, “I’m sorry if I’m making things weird. I didn’t even ask if I could stay. I can get a hotel if you want.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

It seemed like they were always finding that awkward lull in the conversation, that silence that just went on and on until one of them got the courage to jump. Jim shoved his hands in his pockets out of nervous habit, his fingers pinching at the thin fabric lining them. He had so much he wanted to ask, so much he still needed clarification for, and yet all his brain could think of was his arms around Spock’s waist and if it would look as natural as it did in that picture, feel as nice as he hoped it would. Thankfully, Spock came to his rescue.

“I will be retiring now if there is nothing further you wish to discuss. The guest room has additional blankets located in the lower cabinets should you require them. Please do not hesitate to inform me of your needs.”

Jim sighed in pure relief; there was his out. Now he had time to put his thoughts together. “Thank you, Spock. Good night.”

Spock seemed to hesitate on that, staring out at the hallway blankly. He did not look at him, but his words rang with a gentleness that made Jim’s knees a little weak. “Good night, Jim.”

The reticent padding of his footsteps was mesmerizing as it moved away from him, and he could almost hear the soft hiss of his robes dragging along the hardwood floor. Then there was only the sound of his own breathing and the tinkling of wind chimes through the living room window. The house was suddenly too large, too silent, and he didn’t quite belong.

As he lay awake in yet another bed that was too soft and smelled of smoky herbs, staring at the ceiling looking for imperfections that weren’t there, his brain refused to call it a day. It was still flaring with ideas and thoughts that kept popping in without his permission. They were images of his first officer doing mundane things like looking at the scanners on the science station, signing dockets for an ensign, debriefing him. And each thing was suddenly different from how he remembered it; slender fingers flying over screens, dark eyes reading too quickly to be possible, a deep timber quietly reciting procedures and regulations into his ear like they were beautiful secrets.

He’d learned to respect and admire his first officer, given time and close interactions. They needed each other; Spock needed someone to challenge his logic and Jim- Jim needed checks and balances and, for all its irony, emotional security.

After seeing that cherished locket (which Jim realized must have been one of the few possessions the ambassador had on his person when he came to this new reality), something had clicked into place. Them being together wasn’t destiny. This was, as the ambassador had said, a completely new timeline; bits and pieces were the same, but everything else was just too off course. He refused to believe that the universe could just fix itself just because he wanted it to. But he couldn’t ignore that weird cloying pulse in his chest and the urge to smile whenever those warm eyes turned on him; he knew what that feeling was.

He rolled onto his side, closed his eyes, and willed himself to just shut off because he was thoroughly and irrevocably _fucked_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always a beautiful thank you to [Slashisfamilyhistory](https://slashisfamilyhistory.tumblr.com/) for being my beta!
> 
> AND ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL THANK YOU TO [NOTANTS](https://notants.tumblr.com/) FOR THIS FANART???? CHRIST I'M LEGALLY DEAD NOW THANKS.
> 
> Heard you guys liked babies and Spirk. I am here to deliver on both accounts.

 

The door creaked open.

Being a light sleeper was both a blessing and a curse. Jim’s fight or flight responses were rearing to be put into action, but he wasn’t on the Enterprise, wasn’t stuck on an alien planet with creatures ready to eat him. He was nestled deeply into a cloudy pillow and someone was slowly inching into the room. Forcing his eyes to focus, he peered up at the shy little face of Stel, looking incredibly guilty at his bedside in the light of early morning. The tension drained out of him in an instant.

“Stel,” he ground out through his sleep-logged throat. “What is it?”

“It is cold,” Stel answered.

He supposed he had something to do with that; Spock had set the climate controls to accommodate Jim’s human preferences. Before he could think, he was already pulling back the thick feathery comforter to let Stel in. The boy didn’t hesitate to crawl right under it and plaster himself to Jim’s chest. Jim gave a contented sigh as he rolled back onto his side and let the comfortable warmth of company lull him into a sleepy stupor.

“You are warm,” Stel told him. “Do you have no control of your internal temperatures?”

“Nope,” Jim mouthed into the pillow. “It’s always a beautiful thirty-seven degrees in there.”

Stel pressed his ear to Jim’s sternum. “And the human heart is here? The pulsations are slow.”

“Are you just here to study me?”

“I am making observations.”

“Mmm.”

The room was loud with the shifting of sheets and little exploratory fingers; Stel hadn’t gotten the message. Jim grabbed a wandering hand and settled it flat against his back. “Sleeping,” Jim murmured.

“Do humans always require this much sleep?”

“And more.”

“That is inefficient.”

“I know.”

Stel’s breath permeated the cotton of his t-shirt and the hot humidity was slightly uncomfortable, but the cuddling was welcome. He wrapped his arms around the boy and rested his chin over the crown of his head.

“My sa-mekh also held me this way.”

Jim thought it was far too early in the day to be this sad. He pressed a thumb behind one of Stel’s pointed ears, sinking fingers into thick black hair.

“He must have loved you a lot.”

“He did.”

Jim was starting to feel guilty that he was so groggy in the face of this child’s desperate cry for attention. He sighed sleepily and propped his arm under his head to keep it off the tempting embrace of the pillow.

“Tell me about him.”

Stel glanced up at him, eyes blank but still so clearly searching for a sign of frustration, as if he expected Jim to be tired of him. Jim wondered if he was just that good at reading Vulcans or if Stel was just too expressive. He offered a reassuring smile. “You knew him your whole life. I bet you’ve got tons of stories.”

“Indeed. He was most caring. I found that no other person on this planet could equate the affection he had for all things. Even the plants and rocks were held in his regard.”

Jim couldn’t help the petting of his fingers through the soft hair.

“He taught me to cherish everything as he did, and while I find it difficult at times, it is my goal to do so.”

“What times are difficult?”

Stel seemed to be thinking of a way to explain it politely. “My classmates lack compassion.”

Jim grinned into his arm. “Yeah, I hear that’s a common thing here.”

“They do not understand knowledge beyond logic.”

“You’re too smart for them. Just like your dad.”

Stel shifted against him. “Sa-mekh does not understand either. He cares for nothing.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Jim hummed. “He cares. It just takes a while for him to warm up to you.”

“Warm up?”

“To get used to, acclimate. You should have seen him when we first met. He was a real jerk, totally stone cold, hated my guts. Then we saved the universe a couple of times and now we’re practically best friends.”

“Will I also have to save the universe for him to ‘warm up’ to me?”

Jim laughed. “No, I think you’ve got it way easier than I did. You just keep being you.”

“He is disappointed in me.”

“No, don’t say that. He’s just scared he’ll mess up. He hates not being perfect.”

“What is he afraid he will ‘mess up’?

“You.”

Stel took a moment to think on that and Jim took the opportunity to close his eyes and let out a sleepy sigh. God, this bed was too wonderful. He wanted to stay here forever.

“What would he ‘mess up’ in regards to me?”

“You know, teaching you the wrong things, not being able to help you. The ambassador probably made it look easy, but being a dad is hard. You don’t know you’ve done it right until your kid’s all grown up and it’s too late to fix what you’ve done.”

“Do you have experience in parenthood?”

“No,” Jim answered, and it felt weird saying that while he was practically smothering this boy. “But that’s how my mom always described it.”

Stel was silent for a moment and Jim felt tiny fingers curl into his shirt, a warm forehead press into his sternum.

“You are a kind and wonderful person, Jim. You would no doubt excel as a father.”

Oh no. Now they were going down a rabbit hole he couldn’t get out of. His chest felt tight under Stel’s face. Suddenly he was thinking about how his own father had only been a picture on a mantle, a name in the history books, a gravestone. And if Stel already felt this much towards him, without any of his input, what will happen when he goes back to following the stars he’d been chasing all these years? Then  _ Jim _ will be that picture on the mantle, the name in the history books, the gravestone.

And he didn’t want to be that to Stel.

“You think too highly of me,” Jim whispered because he wasn’t sure his voice wouldn’t break. Stel whispered to him right back.

“I think of you as you ought to be thought of.”

Jim felt like he was losing himself, something deep and powerful opening in him like a wound. He moved to press his lips to the top of Stel’s head and held them there, smelling sand and spice and soap. If he opened his mouth again, he would probably say something stupid and emotional. 

He fell asleep curled around the boy. Stel really was a perfect kid and he sort of hated it. This was supposed to be a mission to bring Spock home and yet he was falling in love and then falling in love again, two Vulcans tearing his heart apart without even trying. 

He had been compromised.

It was a dreamless sleep, pleasant and easy like he had no more cares or worries as long as his eyes were closed. When he woke up hours later, the sun was peeking through the edges of the curtains, making hot lines of light in the dark of the room.

“Stel.”

Spock was watching him from the doorway, he realized. Jim lifted his sleepy head and he knew his hair must have been pointing in every direction. Everything was still kind of blurry.

“Hmm?”

“Where is Stel?” Spock didn’t seem to be in a playful mood, but Jim wasn’t exactly the most lucid in the mornings. He threw back the heavy comforter to reveal the boy in question, wide awake and trying to hide the guilt in his eyes.

“Ta-da,” Jim drawled.

Spock didn’t say anything, but the angle of his eyebrows seemed a little more intimidating than usual. Jim furrowed his own together as he squinted into wakefulness.

“What time is it? Because it feels too early.”

“It is 0600.”

“Yeah, I was right. It is too early.” Jim threw the comforter over both of them and nestled back into his pillow. “G’night.”

“Stel,” Spock said and this time it was harder. Jim felt the boy wiggle under the blanket, slipping out with ruffled hair and a face full of annoyance. Jim smiled. He’d grown accustomed to seeing grumpy Vulcans, but seeing that look on a baby one was certainly endearing.

“Prepare yourself for the academy,” Spock instructed. Stel obeyed reluctantly, which he always seemed to do with Spock as if he were his keeper instead of his father. Jim propped himself up on his elbows as he watched him leave.

“It’s a school day? Poor guy.”

Spock turned his attention back to Jim. “I would ask you to join me at the hospital, but you seem content to remain resting.”

“Hospital?”

“That is where my research lab is located. Did you assume my only duty was biological?”

Jim hesitated. “No,” he lied.

But Spock knew. He gave Jim that amused leer, the one with the single eyebrow pushed up high. “You think so little of me?”

Jim grinned and threw the comforter open again. “Sorry, it was kind of a shock. I couldn’t really think of much else.”

Spock watched intently as Jim stood and stretched, groaning and twisting every which way. He planted his hands on his hips and arched his back, searching for the angle that would make his bones crack and his muscles turn to goo. “So the hospital, huh? It’s not far from here, is it? Because if the weather is anything like it was yesterday, I think I’ll actually melt.”

It took a suspiciously long time for Spock to answer, still watching Jim’s body curl and release. “It is not far. We will escort Stel to the academy before proceeding. Necessary precautions will be taken for your safety.”

“Sounds like a plan, Mr. Spock.”

He was still standing in the doorway, Jim realized, with little indication he would be leaving soon. Jim tugged his shirt down from where it had ridden up and suddenly the spell was broken. Spock nodded stiffly and disappeared, leaving Jim to wonder what just happened.

The morning routine was quiet and particularly somber. Stel looked downright upset about being forced into his school uniform with the wide dark collar that hid away his mouth. Spock had donned a much more fashionable tunic with sharp shoulders and a tight, high collar. What was it with Vulcans and collars? Jim was feeling rather underdressed in his casual human clothes and knew it would just be something else for the rest of the planet to gawk at. He’d ask Spock if he could borrow something just to better fit in, but judging by the thickness of the fabrics, he’d probably overheat before he even left the house.

Breakfast was hurried, as Stel had been dragging his feet in the hope that school would be canceled in the few minutes before they had to leave. Jim was used to a quick breakfast anyway, stuffing some sort of Vulcan bread into his mouth and not totally hating it. Stel mimicked his bad eating habits, getting crumbs all over his face and robes, and Jim had to take a minute to wipe them all away before Spock could scold them both.

As they made their way out of the house, Spock wordlessly handed him a large black umbrella. Jim laughed.

“Does it even rain here?”

“The average annual rainfall is five centimeters.”

“Yikes. How do you survive Earth?”

“I endeavor to remain indoors.”

Now Jim was imagining a cozy sweater-clad Spock curled up in a bay window looking out at the dreary gray of San Francisco fog, and maybe Jim was there too, with hot drinks and warm conversations. It was disgustingly domestic. But then he realized they were already in the middle of their own domestic episode as Stel tugged at Jim’s pants to pull him through the door and Spock guided him out as well. He shook the thoughts from him and popped open the umbrella as soon as he hit the sizzling air.

He groaned at the blinding brightness, heat pushing up from the ground and beating down from the sky. He was uncomfortable and a little sweaty, but at least he wasn’t dying this time. The shade from the umbrella was working wonders, though it felt odd walking around with one when there wasn’t any rain. He twirled it absent-mindedly as they walked out past the houses and toward the central district.

Jim trailed behind Spock and Stel, watching the way they moved with noble grace. They didn’t hold hands as he expected small children to do with their parents but moved in sync with a strangely wide gap between them. Gauging the size of it, he figured it out: It was perfectly Jim-sized.

He squeezed between them, rolling his shoulder hard into Spock’s. Spock didn’t seem fazed; it probably had something to do with years of Jim slapping him on the back and bumping into him playfully. Stel stared at the casual touch with shocked eyes.

“You haven’t told me anything about your research,” Jim said.

“I am testing artificial uteri for extracorporeal fetal development.”

“Wow, really? I know the technology already exists, but I thought the ethical debate killed it off.”

“The ethics of Vulcans differ from that of humans. The science is viable and offers substantial benefits, so it is only logical to pursue it.”

Jim shifted his umbrella so as to not poke Spock with the tines. “So not only are you working on that, but you’re giving away your DNA to anyone who needs it? I’m pretty sure you’re single-handedly repopulating the Vulcan species.”

“That is a gross exaggeration. While my research and assistance are essential in this effort, I am by no means the sole contributor.”

Jim let the literalism slide. “So do I get to see a whole bunch of alien test tube babies?”

“I appear to have been mistaken in presuming you could conduct yourself professionally.”

“Not in my off hours, anyway.”

Spock made an indistinct exasperated sound, a little breath of air, and it made Jim beam with triumph. That was a genuine honest-to-God Spock chuckle. He turned his grin to Stel, who was still looking on raptly.

The academy was a magnificent building, taller and brighter than all the others surrounding it. It looked brand new; he assumed this must have been a high priority for the colony after establishing houses and hospitals. The grounds were lavish, fashioned with impressive terraces and stern, kingly statues guarding the doors. It looked like an ivy-league college and it felt strange to be sending a five-year-old child into it. But knowing the efficiency of Vulcans, it was probable that the entire educational system was located here, from daycare to university. It was illogical to have separate institutions, he guessed.

“Apply yourself diligently,” Spock said as he looked down at Stel. Stel stared back at him silently and Jim could tell the disappoint was starting to set in.

“Have a good day,” Jim jumped in and they both turned to give him blank looks. Stel was fighting to keep the warmth off his face now that they were in public, especially since everyone around them was staring at the war heroes and their - _ their? _ \- child.

“I will endeavor to do so,” Stel answered tenderly. He bowed his head in parting and Jim watched the small boy disappear into the crowd of other darkly robed Vulcans.

The world was loud with hushed voices and hover cars humming in the streets, but Jim couldn’t ignore how quiet Spock was. He was looking out into the school grounds and mass of students unblinkingly as if he had come to some sort of epiphany. And he had, apparently.

“You are naturally adept with children.”

Oh. That was a compliment. Jim gripped the umbrella tightly. “I mean, maybe? I just talk to him like he’s an adult.”

Spock was silent again and it was eerie, like terrible things were running through that big brain of his. Behind those dark eyes was something wanting to be said, but it just wasn’t ready yet. If Jim had learned anything from their friendship, it was that Spock was as tight-lipped as an Aldebaran shellmouth when he wanted to be, as Bones had once said. The only way to get anything out of him was to logic it out, or in Jim’s case, to have just enough annoying persistence. It’d only worked a total of three times, and the third time he was pretty sure Spock had goaded him into a heated argument just for fun, or whatever Spock’s term for ‘fun’ was. He’d never forget the look of satisfaction that had flashed in Spock’s eyes, the ghost of a smile when Jim had realized he’d been had. But now he couldn’t read him at all.

Spock turned and began walking quietly toward the hospital. All Jim could do was follow.

It was a short walk, but it felt incredibly long with the silence bearing down between them. Jim tried to think of something to say to break the ice, but if Spock was mad about something, he didn’t want to provoke him. At least not this time. So Jim took in the sights and sounds of New Vulcan, the hum of construction in the distance and the whistling of the scorching breeze that had weaved its way through the imposing skyscrapers. He smiled at the Vulcans who stared at him and took in their minute reactions of distaste. He listened to the composed steps beside him, watched the way Spock held his head high like all the rest of them, a model citizen. He didn’t want to be caught staring, but he wanted to take in those stark features and pale skin until he couldn’t ever forget them. He wiped the sweat from his brow before it could drip into his eyes. 

The hospital was just like all the other high rises: massive, neutral, and a perfect example of imperial Vulcan design. He hadn’t expected Vulcans to have a flair for architecture, what with trying to make the most efficient constructions, but there was definitely an artfulness to it. The top of the building was prominently arched, pointing out in the sky with a wide array of glass windows that seemed to glow in the sunlight. It was tall enough to be at least a hundred floors, maybe more.

They climbed the stairway and the closer they got to the entrance, the more excited Jim was to get out of the damn heat. He practically jogged up the last three steps, fought his umbrella into submission, and burst through the glass doors like a madman. It wasn’t air-conditioned and cool like Spock’s house, but the giant steel-bladed fans extending from the high ceilings circulated the air to a decent temperature. He breathed a loud sigh of relief.

“I’m pretty sure I was about to die, just now,” he grumbled into the back of his hand as he wiped more sweat off his overheated face. Appearing decent in front of all these Vulcans was a lost cause, but he still felt embarrassed enough to try.

“You were in no danger of dying,” Spock told him, leading past the grand foyer and into the large glossy elevator. Jim’s legs were a bit wobbly from finally being able to take a breather, but he hurried after him with as much decorum as he could muster. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone in the lift; a group of four other Vulcans joined them, all fancy robes and black bowl cuts. They remained impassive and silent as the doors slid closed and they began to ascend, but Jim could feel their inquisitive eyes on him. Surrounded by tall, gracious creatures made Jim feel like a blight. He wondered if they could smell the sweat on him and his skin prickled into goosebumps, like stage fright was setting in. He tried to will his body to stop secreting so much.

It was not a tight fit by any means; the compartment was spacious, but Jim was very aware of the sensitive nature of Vulcan personal space. He shifted to try and put more distance between them, but that was shot as soon as they pulled to a stop and more people got on. He stepped back to let them enter and he felt like he could get lost in all the black and dark muted tones washing in. He had never considered himself short, but they all had at least an inch or two on him and this was probably the first time he’d ever been the smallest person in the room. Well, excluding that time on XG-35 when the natives had been just shy of twelve feet tall. He was still too close and he didn’t want to accidentally bump against someone’s hand and cause a ruckus. The whole touch telepath thing had never been fully explained to him, but he imagined they would find the thoughts in Jim’s head to be distasteful, if not downright disgusting. Not that he was thinking vulgar things at the moment, but he was sure his puny human brain would be a painful thing to touch.

Another stop and more Vulcans. He took another step, but there was nowhere else to go. His back came into contact with Spock’s chest and he jumped and turned his head, giving Spock his best apologetic smile. Spock retained the appearance of a brick wall, the face he’d adopted while in public, and did not acknowledge him. Jim couldn’t help feeling trapped, giving the other Vulcans a few precious inches of space while he practically leaned into Spock. He tried to keep his hands somewhere where they wouldn’t cause trouble, tucking them in as he crossed his arms, but without any leverage, his shoulders pressed further against Spock. Could he read thoughts through clothes? If so, he was going to be in a lot of trouble, because all he could think about was the gentle rise and fall of Spock's chest, how his breath was tickling the nape of his neck, how  _ right _ he felt against him, and if he were a little less disciplined, he’d have made an embarrassing sound at the feel of it all. But he was James fucking Kirk and he wasn’t about to go weak-kneed over a little intimate proximity. He steeled himself through the immense difficulty.

There was a beeping sound and the doors opened. Suddenly Spock was moving against him and there it was; a steadying hand on the small of Jim’s back that made his skin tingle and his breath catch in his throat. The sea of Vulcans parted for them and all eyes were on that barest hint of connection as if they couldn’t possibly look away. He wondered if Spock was bothered by all the attention, being such a private person. But some stupid hopeful part of him wondered if he’d done it on purpose. He pushed Jim forward with firm fingers, guiding him out of the lift, and Jim couldn’t help the parting of his lips or the warmth in his cheeks and he hoped to God Spock wouldn’t notice.

Once out of the elevator, Spock moved to take the lead and the loss of his touch meant Jim could suddenly breathe again. As he willed himself to calm down, they passed by a barely-staffed lab framed by reinforced glass, fully stocked with state-of-the-art equipment and holo screens bursting with data. The Vulcans within didn’t even spare them a glance; they were deeply engrossed in their work. It was good to know other Vulcans could be as fascinated with science as Spock was. Well, almost. It was definitely that human influence that made Spock’s eyes light up, a repressed passion that could only be pulled out with the help of a tricorder or a microscope. These guys could only dream of having that, if Vulcans dreamed at all.

At the end of a long hallway, Spock stopped at a large door, punched in a security code, and glanced at Jim over his shoulder. “I must request that you refrain from touching the equipment.”

Jim clearly remembered the last time he’d visited Spock in the labs on the Enterprise and how swiftly he’d been banned after he’d been a little too interested in a mysterious sample they’d collected on Gamma Victus II. He couldn’t help it; it was obnoxiously pink and wiggled when he spoke, so he was naturally curious. After overseeing the quarantine that lasted eight days -it really hadn’t been  _ that _ bad, but Bones had insisted- and enduring the subsequent silent treatment from Spock, he’d learned his lesson. “You got it, Commander,” he smiled.

That earned him a blank look he chose to interpret as doubtful, but the doors opened anyway and he was led in.

The first thing he noticed was how dark it was. The bright fluorescent buttons and scanners glowed in the shadowy ambiance. There was a gentle hum of white noise, like the purr of the Enterprise when she was at warp.

“The subjects are sensitive to light and auditory stimulation,” Spock whispered, knowing exactly what Jim was thinking. “Our current studies show this is the most efficient environmental setting.”

As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he took in the room; rows and rows of identical stations, each containing a podlike device attached to biosensors and heavy tubes. As Spock led him closer to one of the stations, he could see the pod was a thin malleable container that looked more like an IV bag than anything else. It was filled with clear green-tinted fluid that was being continuously cycled by a pump. There was something there, dark green and flat, pulsing beneath the current. Jim was mesmerized.

“What am I looking at, Mr. Spock?”

“An artificial placenta. An embryo was successfully implanted 13.3 days ago.”

Jim looked out across the other stations, each with their own varying stages of development. He could see a much larger specimen only four stations down and started toward it with a striking curiosity. “Have any of them come to full term?”

“Yes. Sixteen so far.”

Jim gave him an incredulous look and Spock only returned it with a shallow dip of his head to acknowledge that he was telling the truth, as if he could do anything but. “That’s amazing!” he said, a little louder than he should have. Spock gave him a warning look and Jim offered an apologetic smile before continuing in a whisper. “No complications?”

“None.”

“Impressive,” Jim hummed as he stopped dead in front of the station with the largest container. He felt his stomach give a weird little roll at the sight of a nearly fully developed fetus, complete with all the standard parts; ten fingers, ten toes, little pointed ears. The container looked too small, like the baby was vacuum sealed in, and it twitched with every cycle of the pump. It looked like it could open its eyes any second. He really had been joking about the whole alien test tube thing, but seeing it up close was a little disorienting.

“This subject will be extracted in 29.3 days.”

Jim nearly jumped at the sound of Spock’s quiet voice. He steadied himself as he watched the bioscanner blipping calmly, indicating a strong heartbeat. He’d never been that into medical sciences; he was more of a computer science kind of guy. And he’d heard plenty about the failings of modern medicine from Bones nearly every day since the academy, never sparing the gruesome details. But none of that had prepared him for this experience. Cutting edge technology could let him see a baby grow from the size of a bean to a melon, all through a little plastic bag. It was strange, terrifying, otherworldly.

“It’s so small,” is all Jim could really say. Spock moved closer to inspect it.

“It is average in weight for this period of gestation. It will increase in size by 5.9% before extraction.”

Jim couldn’t help thinking something about it wasn’t right, despite everything telling him that this was an incredible marvel of science with unlimited potential. The human element, or the Vulcan equivalent, if there was one, was gone. He would have liked to touch it just to let it know the world wasn’t just a cold mass of tubes and wires and plastisteel. His fingers curled at his sides instead. 

"You are uncomfortable," Spock murmured.

Suddenly, the ability to read each other was a detriment instead of a happy little fact that sat warm in his belly whenever he thought about it. Because as proud as he was that he could read Spock, when it came to the other way around, Spock was a league better, as per usual. Jim faltered through his thoughts. 

"It’s just, I don’t know. It looks so lonely. And I know that’s illogical, you don’t need to say it.”

“Then I will refrain from doing so.”

Jim felt a smile tug at him, but he pushed it away. “One of the debates said that without a mother, the baby won’t develop an essential bond."

"A Vulcan child does not begin the parental bonding process until they have reached their first year."

"Yeah well, humans start bonding on day one of conception."

"That is an exercise in futility. A fertilized embryo cannot reciprocate."

“It’s mostly for the parents. Humans like getting to know their babies before they’re born. They talk and sing to them and like to feel them kick.” And then Jim was thinking about his dad again. He’d probably done all those things with Jim and they were the only interactions they’d ever had. Had he talked to him through his mom’s stomach, telling him how excited he was to meet him? Told him about the stars and the worlds he’d seen? Had he worried about being a good dad, the way Jim couldn’t seem to stop doing with Stel? He swallowed before the lump in his throat could get to him. “Even if the baby can’t understand it, I think it makes them feel safe.”

He expected Spock to go off about brain development and how a fetus can’t comprehend emotional complexity, but he didn’t. He looked to Jim with calculating eyes, maybe evaluating all the tells on his face and figuring out just how anxious he was. He was still uneasy thinking about kids and how they’d play out in his life, but he could still empathize with the ones around him- what a cold way to come into the world. Spock must have seen something there because his shoulders dropped and he shifted half a step closer.

“Would you be amenable in testing that theory?”

Jim felt his jaw go a bit soft and his mouth fell open. He fought to speak. “What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever you believe would result in a reaction,” Spock whispered. “Within reason.”

“Can I?” Jim lifted a hand, feeling it shake a little, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders. Spock gave a delicate nod and followed Jim’s lead as they crowded the station. The pump made a low whirring sound, shifting the bag like it was breathing. The baby within curled and fluttered unconsciously and Jim was reaching his hand out to give it a gentle, tentative touch. Despite how cold and alien it looked, it was warm and soft even through the layers of plastic and fluid. He could feel the tiny shuddering beats of its too fast hummingbird heart. His own heart gave a hard thump.

“Hey there,” Jim whispered. 

The baby twitched fiercely in response. The bioscanner showed a change, of what he wasn’t sure, but there was something. Maybe it was different from all the other twitches, maybe not. Regardless, Jim could feel the grin splitting his face as he faced Spock, who was watching Jim’s hand with the same captivating focus he gave to a new species of insect or an unexplained anomaly. 

“Fascinating.”

And at that moment, standing shoulder to shoulder in the dark grey shadows of the lab, surrounded by sterile machines and fragile creatures, Jim thought he’d never loved Spock more than he did just then. He was smitten with him, truly and completely enraptured. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Spock’s face, so curious and open and extraordinary as it analyzed this Vulcan-to-be in front of them. The sharp angles of his cheeks and nose were highlighted in the contrasting light of the blipping bioscanners and left Jim thunderstruck. His head was full of cotton.

“Spock,” he sighed. When Spock turned toward him, they were only a frustratingly few centimeters apart and Jim could feel his hot breath against his cheek. Spock made no attempt to add space between them, so neither did Jim. Everything was so impossibly intimate and it left him floating. “Tell me how this thing works.”

“It is a very complex process.” Spock tilted his head even closer and God, he could just nearly kiss him. “It would take quite some time to explain it in its entirety.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world.”

And he did. He always had, for Spock. He’d drop anything and everything for him and he’d proven that time and time again over the years. Spock talking science was one of the few ways he could express himself beyond his own tight control; he made it sound like poetry and Jim could listen to it for the rest of his life. Spock smiled, just the edges of his lips pulled up before he could catch himself, and molasses eyes flickered with unbridled satisfaction. His deep, quiet voice filled Jim’s ears perfectly as he explained the requirements of the nutrition system and the intricate specifications of liquid ventilation. He could hear the barely contained excitement as he further delved into the sensitivities of the germinal matrix and Jim felt like he was being serenaded. It was laughable to find so much simple joy in having a biology textbook read out loud to you, but he couldn’t care less.

The palm of his hand hadn’t left the baby, applying faint pressure with a thumb that rubbed in circles. The sensors dipped and jumped with the movement; a slowed heartbeat, a calming of trembles. As Spock mapped the sweep exhaust system, long fingers smoothing over a highway of tubes, the pinky of Jim’s other hand bravely slipped into the hip pocket of Spock’s pants. Spock must have noticed it, had to have. But all he gave Jim in return were warm eyes and a nearly inaudible utterance of numbers and computations in the meager air between them.

Alone in the dark, barely touching, tenderly eloquent words beating back the silence, his heart bursting at the seams, Jim was lost and he didn’t want to be found.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time they arrived at the academy to pick up Stel, it was late afternoon and just like on Earth, it was the hottest part of the day. They waited in a gazebo made of white stone just off the edge of the campus gardens. He would have been sitting on one of the benches lining the inside, but the suns managed to touch all of them and he didn't have a death wish. Despite the structure saving him from a nasty full-body burn, it did little to ease the burn of the air itself. It was a cloying, unforgiving heat that made his blood thicken and his brain slow down. He could feel the dizziness and nausea simmering in him, threatening to burst out and cause a scene again. He tugged at his shirt to get some air moving against his sweaty skin but it didn’t offer much help.

“We can return to the house if the heat is overwhelming,” Spock said, looking just peachy as if it weren’t a million degrees. Jim continued to fan himself with his sweat-soaked shirt.

“And not be here to pick up Stel? No way.”

“Stel has been collected from the academy a total of 153 times without your presence.”

“Well, I want to be here for this one, alright?”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out so forceful. He blamed his crankiness on the fact that his brain was melting out his ears. He pressed a hand to his slick forehead and grimaced. “Sorry.”

Thankfully, Spock didn’t dwell on being snapped at; he barely even gave Jim a sideways glance. “You are quite close to Stel despite the short duration you have been acquainted.”

Jim shrugged and a bead of sweat rolled down his back, tickling his skin. “He’s a good kid.”

“Your communication with Stel has been consistently positive. I had endeavored to analyze your methods for my own efforts, but I am experiencing difficulty in my interpretations.”

Spock was looking toward the academy as if it held all the answers. Jim tried to think of something to say as his knuckles swiped at the moisture collecting in his eyebrows. That was the whole reason he was allowed to stay, wasn’t it? He was supposed to be helping Spock be a dad. Instead, he’d stolen Stel away and made himself the hero; typical Kirk. He had to remind himself that he had no say in any of this. This wasn’t his place and this wasn’t his life. It hurt, but it was true.

“I think he just needs someone who knows what he’s going through,” Jim said, thumbing at his umbrella’s handle to keep his hands occupied. “He just lost his dad and he doesn’t have anyone else.”

Spock, whose head had been held high and proud, slowly turned to meet Jim’s eyes. “You have familiarity with this situation?”

Jim was burning up and nauseous and now he was thinking about all those days he’d known  _ exactly _ how Stel felt, when mom was off-world and Frank was  _ Frank _ and all he had was a rusty red bike and miles of dusty nothing in Nowhere, Iowa. The stars had been his friends, the cornfields his hideaway, but he couldn’t outrun the shadows that whispered that his father hadn’t really wanted him, had died to escape him, just like how mom was escaping him. He eventually got older and figured himself out, but that niggling thought had stayed with him, even in the light of all he’d done to prove he was more than just his father’s son, to himself and the galaxy. That feeling never truly left.

“Yeah.” He was surprised when his voice didn’t break on the word. “I do.”

Spock was giving him a gentle look that he hated and loved all the same. “Then I am at a disadvantage. Your shared experiences of loss have created commonalities between you.”

“I mean, you lost,” Jim started, but it felt like dust on his tongue. “Her.”

“Yes,” Spock affirmed carefully, quietly. “However, I was not alone. I had the crew of the Enterprise, my father, and Nyota as sources of consolation. I had you.”

Being at the top of that list -so definitively set apart, as innocuous as it seemed- made his heart pop like a firework. He remembered the subtle support he’d offered after all was said and done: dinners and chess games and silent evenings together because sometimes just being there was enough. He’d hoped it had meant something. Spock didn’t express gratitude often, especially if it involved his own emotional comfort, so the efforts were never acknowledged. Learning that it  _ had _ been acknowledged,  _ appreciated _ \- that was everything to Jim.

“Additionally, the loss of my mother occurred in my adulthood, in which I had the mental capacity to understand and grieve appropriately. Even as a Vulcan, Stel is too young to process trauma effectively. I-  _ assume _ the loss of your own father negatively influenced your childhood and is therefore similar to Stel’s current situation.”

Jim stiffened. For him, it was a matter of wishing for something he’d never had. What must it feel like for Stel, to lose someone who was your whole world, someone who’d loved you so completely? Jim knew his pain and at the same time couldn’t possibly understand. He wiped at the sweat that had dripped into his eyes and made them burn, hissing through his teeth at the sting. “I guess you could say that, yeah.”

Spock watched as Jim scrubbed at his face. “Forgive me. It was inappropriate to discuss such a personal topic.”

“No, no,” Jim reassured. God, he hoped Spock didn’t think he was crying. That’d be a real hit to his ego. “It’s only fair, right? I kind of forced myself into your life; the least I can do is let you talk about my dad.”

“There was no force involved. Though your methods were unorthodox, you were accepted voluntarily.”

Beyond the stinging wetness, he gave Spock a smile he couldn’t control. He might not belong here, but at least he was welcome. God, that was such a beautiful thing to hear. “Thank you,” Jim said. His voice definitely gave away how giddy with relief he was. “I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, but that means a lot to me.”

There was a look on Spock's face he couldn't quite decode, something multifaceted and calculating, like he himself wasn't sure what he was thinking. Jim found it intense, maybe too much so, and he focused his attention on the pointed steel tip of the umbrella in his hands instead.

“Jim,” Spock began to say, but suddenly turned to look out at the academy grounds. After rubbing his eyes one last time, Jim looked over as well, watching as a roving pack of children headed toward them, lead by Stel, who didn’t bother to hide his displeased expression or control the way his feet stomped.

“Oh,” Jim exclaimed as they all gathered around him, observing him with stilted movements of their heads and eyes like he was an amoeba under a microscope. He tried to wipe away as much sweat as he could, but it was a lost cause. He hid his embarrassment behind a grin and they took in the expression with barely contained confusion; they’d probably never seen a smile before. “Uh, what can I do for you?”

“They did not believe I was associated with you and accused me of lying,” Stel huffed, his eyebrows furrowed tightly. Jim laughed and the foreign sound caused a ripple of tilted heads.

“But Vulcans can’t lie,” Jim reminded them.

“Stel does not follow the Vulcan discipline,” a girl said, her face blank beyond her sternness. “He was raised to be human and is therefore capable of lying.”

“That is incorrect! I was raised to be Vulcan!”

“Hey now, you’re all Vulcan,” Jim cut in, knowing he needed to nip this conversation in the bud and fast. “I’m the only human here.”

A few eyes turned to Spock, who had moved away to give the children a comfortable berth. Jim sighed. They knew Spock, knew what he’d done for them, and they still thought of him as more human than Vulcan. Spock had been right; things wouldn’t just change overnight.

“And it’s true, Stel is associated with me,” Jim continued, steering clear of the debate ready to be unleashed by the crowd of curious minds. “I’m visiting him while my ship is being built.”

Jim loved the way their faces just barely lit up; it was good to know childlike wonder wasn’t just a human trait. He wondered how long it would last.

“Have you visited Denobula?”

“Have you encountered an Edosian?”

“What type of antimatter integrator does the Enterprise utilize?”

The questions kept coming in an unrelenting stream and Jim answered the best he could, each one helping to keep the smile on his face bright and fresh. They spoke bluntly as if they were asking a computer and not a person. In turn, he gave his answers with as many human colloquialisms as he could just to see their eyes squint and their lips thin in confusion. 

Spock watched him silently, some sort of curiosity playing across his face in the moment Jim glanced at him and he didn’t have enough time to hide it. He offered Spock a smile as the questions started piling up and over each other in insistent little voices and he was sure he would have been stuck there all day if he hadn’t made an excuse about getting home for dinner, as early as it was. But they accepted it begrudgingly, stark eyebrows pulled down in that pouting look that apparently wasn’t just exclusive to Stel, and bid him their tiny ta’als in goodbye. Jim returned the gesture proudly, making those sour faces disappear in record time, until it was just them again.

After a few silent moments, Stel crossed his arms. “They are quick to accept you as a human but unwilling to accept me for my human influences.”

“Oh, they’ll figure it out eventually,” Jim said. “I’m more of a circus animal to them.”

At the puzzled look he received, Jim had to revise his statement. “An oddity. They only like me because I’m weird and not something they see every day.”

“I do not think you are weird,” Stel assured him. “You are quite average.”

“Why thank you,” Jim laughed. He popped his umbrella open, took Stel’s hand into his, and turned to Spock to have him lead them home, but Spock was giving them a strange, hard look. Almost frightened. Jim felt his smile falter.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” He looked to Stel, who was staring at where their hands met, eyes wide and happy and so incredibly relieved.

“Vulcans discourage physical contact in public,” Spock said, eyes cast downward.

Jim felt the gentle squeeze of deceptively strong fingers in his, desperate for any sort of affection, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to deny this boy anything ever. He looked to Spock with as much innocence as he could muster. “Do you think they’d forgive a naive human such transgressions?”

Spock seemed like he was actually torn on what the correct answer was, his mouth open but silent. He looked down at Stel, who had been slowly drifting closer and closer to Jim’s thigh as if to hide behind it, and back up to Jim with something akin to reluctant acceptance.

“Perhaps not forgiven, but at least not remarked upon.”

Jim gave him a grin as compensation. “Thank you, Mr. Spock.”

As tolerant as Spock was, clearly the rest of the planet wasn’t, because within a few steps they were already receiving heated looks from passersby. The faux-pas was likely tied to the whole touch telepath thing, which was completely understandable, but it wasn’t about to stop him from comforting a lonely boy who apparently wasn’t so different from himself. He wondered- how adept with this ability was Stel? Could he feel the raging storm in Jim's head? He hoped not. It would be a lot for anyone to handle, let alone a child. But Jim wished he could feel the affection he had for him, the loyalty, the gratitude for even being allowed something like this.

So he tried. He closed his eyes and tuned out the burning ache in his head and skin and focused on how much he enjoyed being with Stel and Spock in their little makeshift family, how nice it felt to be wanted for his support, for his stability, to just be  _ wanted _ , and how he never wanted to leave Stel, wanted to stay with him through everything. He knew it was permeated by the love he already felt for Spock. He imagined those feelings as wavelengths, something tangible that he could send from his brain through his blood and muscles out the tips of his fingers like a message. It felt a bit like when Spock had tried to teach him Vulcan meditation techniques -which he quickly realized wasn't his thing-, only instead of clearing his mind, he was focusing on something that renewed the peace inside him the more he focused on it. It was nice.

When he opened his eyes again, Stel was looking up at him with big, beautiful pools the color of dark chocolate and raw umber, calling out to him as if asking for everything and Jim was all of it and more. His little mouth trembled as it struggled to form words. 

Jim took pity on him with his softest smile. “You felt that?”

Stel gave him a shaky nod, refusing to even blink as if Jim would disappear if he did. Jim gently squeezed his hand. “That’s how you make me feel.”

He hadn’t intended to make Stel cry. God, no, not ever. But he was now, with fat tears rolling down his pale face as he bit his lip to try and keep the sounds in. Jim felt his heart drop to his feet and he panicked. Maybe he’d done it wrong and he’d sent over the bad stuff instead. He didn’t want Stel to know the things that had been poisoning his thoughts, especially when they involved the temporality of what they had together. He didn't want Stel to think about any of that. 

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re alright,” Jim shushed, stopping to kneel and pull Stel into his arms. The umbrella wagged about dangerously, letting the suns catch a glimpse of the fragile skin on his arms and heat his back through his thin shirt. Spock was quick to jump in and take hold of the umbrella to keep Jim from a terrible fate.

“Jim,” he said cautiously as if seeking for a way to help and finding none. Stel had wrapped his arms around Jim’s neck, asking to be picked up, whining sobs muffled against him. Jim doubted he could in his current state; just having Stel’s sleeves press into his fevered skin felt like fire and his knees were weak against the scorching sand. But he would; he had to. He curled his arms around his back, hoisted him against his chest, and stood up with shaky legs. Spock barely contained his alarm. “Jim, please do not overexert yourself.”

“I can do it. If you could just-” Jim didn’t need to finish. Spock leaned in close to make sure not a single bit of him wasn’t covered by the umbrella's shade, grip steady and precise. “Thank you.”

The walk home felt infinitely longer than it had that morning. He could see the shimmer of heat boiling up from the red sands in the distance and the lack of a breeze made the air stifling. It certainly didn’t help that Stel was stuck to him like he’d melted there and Spock was breathing down his neck like he was waiting for Jim to fall flat on his face. He kept telling himself it wouldn’t be much farther, much longer. He willed his brain to just calm down and keep going. He could do this, dammit.

“Jim,” Spock said and even though he was right next to him, it felt far away. He told himself to blink, but it took way too long and when he eventually opened his eyes, he realized he’d slowed his pace to a dead stop. If he took one more step, he was sure he’d crumple into nothing. His tongue was like a lead weight and his head was a terribly heavy thing.

“Jim,” was murmured into his ear again, worried, so close. Moving was just too much, but his arms tightened around the boy-  _ his _ boy,  _ their _ boy. If he were going to die right then, his brain cooked in its own fluids and his skin sloughing off, he’d still have this. He took a deep inhale and his lungs filled with hot, crisp air, burning him from the inside out. His eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.

Suddenly there were hands on him; not just the little ones stuck to the back of his neck- big ones with long fingers. They pulled him close, urged his head to rest on a firm shoulder, to lean his shoulders back, to let him sag. They gladly accepted his weight, clutched him by the waist and held him upright as his steps were no longer his but someone else’s. His feet moved on instinct, no longer overwhelmed by the effort of it. His forehead pressed into warm solid cloth, soaking it in his sweat, and he felt the need to apologize.

“Apologies are unnecessary.”

And that was the last thing he heard for a very long time. The insides of his eyelids were so much better than the too-bright sunlight and he let his head loll about loosely; he couldn’t muster the concentration to keep it in place. Eventually, he felt the awful heat change to beautiful coolness, felt the nearly unbearable weight on his chest slip away, and his feet no longer touched the ground. Voices hummed in the background, one deep and one not.

"What is wrong with Jim?"

"Humans cannot easily adapt to the temperatures here. Prolonged exposure can cause nausea, fatigue, and loss of consciousness.”

"Will he die?"

"No."

"You are certain?"

Even though he was out of his mind with heat exhaustion, the panic and terror rippling through that little voice was undeniable. Something tugged at his hand, insistent and needy. He felt the fingers under and around him squeeze gently, felt his body be pulled tighter into the strong warmth.

"Yes. There is nothing to fear."

Jim wanted to praise Spock for saying exactly what Stel needed to hear, but when he opened his mouth, his voice didn’t sound right, like it wasn’t his. He was shushed wordlessly and soon felt the pillowy softness of a bed beneath him, a cold cloth against his face. Quietly, he sank into unconsciousness.

It was embarrassing, really. James T. Kirk, decorated starship captain and hero of Earth, couldn’t handle a little heat. He guessed it had something to do with being raised in humid summers and freezing winters and then spending the rest of his adult life in the perfectly climatized air of the Enterprise. Dry heat wasn’t his expertise. He’d have to take some time in the American southwest on his next shore leave to build up his tolerance, maybe visit the Grand Canyon. He’d bet Stel would like that.

He slowly became aware of tiny fingers pressed to his face, cooler than expected and moving into a position he’d felt once before. Or at least they were trying to. There was too much distance between his chin and his temple for them to reach everything at once. Jim couldn’t hold back his amused smile as the fingers wiggled in their best attempt.

“Trying to steal my thoughts?” Jim said, thick and groggy. As he slid his eyes open to the misty dark of curtain-tinted light, Stel’s frowning face came into focus.

“I would not steal them. I would only see them.”

He gently took Stel’s hand -so tiny, so fragile- and kept it pressed to his skin. The touch was like aloe to a burn. “You don’t want to see all of that.”

“I do. It is my most urgent desire, but I am too small to perform a meld. If you were Vulcan, you could meld with me instead.”

“Too bad, huh?”

“It is not bad. You are you and that is what I prefer.”

The fingers slipped out from beneath Jim’s palm and leisurely brushed against his cheek, traced his jaw, rounded over his subjectively alien ears. They explored and memorized with genuine tenderness, pure and loving, like Jim was something to be cherished and adored. Jim took a deep steadying breath and did his best to keep the sharp ache from showing in his features.

“You’re making this hard for me, Stel,” he whispered. “I can’t stay here forever.”

“You can,” Stel said as if it were so obvious, so easy. “You are meant to be with me. It is fate.”

Before Jim could chide him, he pulled away and sprinted out of the room. Jim used the moment of peace to take another deep breath, pushing the sleep from his brain and stretching out like a cat in the fluffy bed. He wondered what time it was, but by the deepening color of the light filtering through the covered window, he guessed close to sunset. He took the wet cloth from his head and laid it carefully on the nightstand.

It was only a few moments before he heard the tell-tale padding of hasty feet rounding their way back into his room. Stel had returned with his PADD in tow, crawling back onto the bed and shoving his way into the space between Jim’s arm and chest. He rested his head on his armpit like a pillow as he held the PADD up in the air between them.

“Since I cannot meld with you, I must show you this way.”

Jim didn’t even have time to ask what he meant. The PADD blinked to life and with a few pokes through the files, the ambassador’s face came into view.

“Greetings, Stel. I trust you are treating your grandfather well.”

Jim was mesmerized; the ambassador looked just the same as the last time he’d seen him; wrinkled with long life, dark eyes shining with mirth, matching the modest smile that didn’t belong on a Vulcan face. It had been so long since he’d spoken with him, heard the willowy rasp of a man far too wise for his own good. The sweetness in his voice was foreign.

“It will not be long until I am home again. As you have been so eager to learn the outcome, I must inform you that the mission was a success. The Kapparians have agreed to the exchange in our favor and will schedule formal conferences in the coming months. They were gracious hosts and have left me with many stories and gifts to give you upon my return. I have been bestowed an assortment of confections you will no doubt find fascinating.”

The ambassador paused and his smile widened a fraction. Stel took the moment to nod as if answering. “They were.”

Jim’s fingers twitched against the boy’s side. How many times had Stel watched this? How many times had he used this holovid for comfort? As Jim felt the tightness blooming in his chest, the ambassador continued.

“I find that it is most difficult being away from you. I am aware of your dislike for these situations and wish for you to know the feeling is mutual. I cannot promise it will not happen again, however, should we find ourselves in such circumstances, I ask that you recall this moment with clarity.”

Suddenly it felt like the ambassador was staring right into him as if there were no camera and this wasn’t just a recording from who knows how long ago. His warm eyes were filled with a love one could only dream of having.

“The depth of affection I hold for you is immeasurable. It is insurmountable, limitless, and paramount to my very being. You will never know how significant it is, as neither words nor action can express it in its entirety. Even when we are lightyears apart, you are foremost in my heart and mind. Should you ever doubt this, I hope that my efforts to remind you are forever withstanding.”

A withered hand raised to the screen in a ta’al. Stel mirrored it.

“We shall be reunited soon, my son. Do not fear.”

The holovid ended and the lump in Jim’s throat was nearly too much. He tried to hide the sound of him choking on it with a sharp inhale, but before he could even think of what to say to all that overwhelming emotion, Stel was opening another holovid. This one was of Stel poking at the camera to turn it on; the screen was too close to his face and offered an unflattering view of the inside of his nose.

“Sa-mehk, story.”

The image blurred as the camera was tossed around by fumbling little hands before coming to an abrupt stop in front of the ambassador, chopping vegetables on the kitchen counter. His wrinkled lips were pinched in an attempt to hide his amusement.

“That is not a polite way to make a request.”

“Please,” came a pleading voice and a loud scraping sound.

“I suppose I have no choice, then.”

A tall chair entered the frame, followed by a little boy clambering over it. Stel was a few years younger, a true toddler, still chubby with baby fat. The ambassador cut a piece of bright yellow fruit and dragged it into Stel’s grabbing hands before he could crawl onto the counter. “What will today’s story be?”

“Jim,” Stel chirped, already soaked in juice as he played with his food. Jim’s fingers tightened in the thick fabric of Stel’s robes. Stel -bigger, older, not this tiny thing on the screen anymore- only seemed to press closer.

“Oh,” was whispered. The ambassador’s eyebrows raised in their typical endearing fashion and Jim’s own smile fought to stay on his trembling lips. “I have no end to those stories.”

And so Jim and Stel watched, listened, as the ambassador regaled a tale about a beautiful witch who turned into a giant cat and chased them through a castle, of being chained up in a dungeon, of the Enterprise being shrunk down to the size of a walnut. Jim never thought Vulcans had the capacity for creating fiction, given they didn’t even lie for creativity’s sake, but the ambassador’s adventures seemed far too unbelievable. Fortunately, they were perfectly silly enough for a child. “Then, Jim destroyed the transmuter. The castle disappeared and we were saved.”

“Jim, Jim, Jim,” toddler Stel chanted, slapping his sticky hands on the countertop.

“Yes, Jim,” the ambassador murmured softly. “So cunning and brave, like you.”

He offered another juicy piece of fruit and Stel took it eagerly, but instead of eating it, he waved it at the ambassador. “For you!”

“And so generous.” He leaned down against the countertop and allowed Stel to feed it to him. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Stel mimicked. “More story, please.”

“After dinner,” the ambassador said, and as Stel began to whine, he pressed a kiss into his black bowl of hair. “You are just as distracting as he was.”

The ambassador reached over to the camera and picked it up, smiling gently into the lens. Stel could be heard fussing in the background. “I find it concerning how quickly you have learned to use this device.”

The holovid ended. Jim gave a sad, punched-out laugh; he couldn’t take much more of this, but Stel just opened another.

This one was the ambassador leaning away from the stationary camera. In his lap was a round-faced stern-looking baby draped in dark linens, big brown eyes staring curiously into the lens.

“That is me,” Stel whispered. “I have grown exponentially.”

Jim couldn’t even give him a cheeky response. His throat was too tight at the sight of the ambassador bouncing Stel carefully on his knee.

“This is Stel, age 4.3 months, 5.97 kilograms, 59.94 centimeters. He is the son of my counterpart in this reality. Since we share the same DNA, that would also make Stel my biological son, though I have yet to explore the conventionality of the concept. I have formally adopted him.”

Baby Stel gurgled and the ambassador’s entire body seemed to curl around him. He looked away from the camera with a flash of uncertainty, of pain, of something too profound for Jim to possibly understand.

“I am aware of how illogical it is to speak in this manner and to record such a moment. It is a purely emotional urge that I am unable to suppress any longer. I will no doubt erase this recording should I find my emotionalism too shameful.”

The ambassador seemed so small, so weak and tired. The bags under his eyes were especially heavy, but the bright stars sparkling in those dark pools were like a beacon in a tumultuous sea.

“I am compelled to inform you of his existence. I recall how much you desired children, but you were convinced of your own false pretense of inadequacy. Were you to be here with me now, you would have no such qualms. You would be thoroughly enamored, just as I am.”

The ambassador paused and visibly swallowed, a nervous tick so entirely human, Jim was amazed by it.

“The variety of emotions that are affecting my state of mind have overwhelmed me. I am apprehensive. I am euphoric. I am fearful. I am contented. Is this the typical response to becoming a father? I have no frame of reference. I am constantly plagued with theories of alternate realities in which you are still with me, assisting me in our most critical and intimate endeavor. I dwell on assumptions of your own reactions, of the way you would hold him, the things you would teach him, the experiences we would share. In gaining a son, the loneliness that had once been a distant affliction is now all-encompassing. I am inundated with thoughts of you.”

There were tears rolling down his wrinkled cheeks but his face remained impassive, not even a hint of a grimace or twinge. His eyes welled over with emotion, with searing pain at a depth Jim had never seen before and would probably never see again.

“Our son will only know my memories of you; they will pale in comparison and will remain forever so. To never know you is a punishment in itself. To know you and lose you is an agony I will suffer until the end of my life.”

The ambassador bowed his head and those awful tears dripped into his lap. Baby Stel wiggled and cooed in ignorance.

“I miss you, Jim.”

Then he stood, bundled Stel tightly to his chest, and turned the camera off.

Jim knew he was about to shatter apart any second now; his eyes were beginning to sting and the muscles in his throat were choking him. He took slow, shaky breaths.

“Stel, please,” he whispered, but his voice still broke. So much for trying to hide it. “No more holovids.”

“This is the last one,” Stel replied and tapped the screen.

The file opened and there he was. There  _ he _ was. Honey hair and golden skin and a sunshine smile. Hazel eyes squinted into the camera playfully.

“Surprise!” he said, Jim said, the other Jim, James T. Kirk. The man on the screen beamed at them from beyond time and space. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you? I'm sure you would have preferred that.”

Jim’s first thought was how this holovid existed. He could imagine the ambassador taking his personal PADD with him on his Romulus mission, especially if this holovid was on it. Jim’s second thought was just how odd it felt seeing this version of himself moving and speaking, not just a static picture anymore. He looked bold and defining, a few years older than Jim, and classically handsome. It was him, but  _ different _ . All in good ways, better ways, like he was just a sad copy of this brazen captain who looked like he'd fought God himself and won; and after hearing one of the ambassador’s outrageous stories, maybe he actually had. This was the man he was supposed to be? Jim couldn’t breathe.

The man leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs in a powerfully smooth movement, and continued to grin like every star in the sky had nothing on his brightness. “I know you hate when I bring it up. Not having control of one’s own birth, illogical human celebrations, blah blah blah. But I can’t just ignore it either.” He cleared his throat and eyed the camera teasingly. Jim knew where this was going.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Mr. Spock, happy birthday to you.”

He paused at strange intervals, his singing voice gruff and pitchy, but heartfelt. There was a painful spark of jealousy as he stared into the face that vaguely matched his own. This version of himself hadn't lost what he had, had everything he’d always wanted; he had a father who was proud of him, had a captaincy he hadn't had to fight tooth and nail to prove he was good enough for, had someone -Spock, brilliant, perfect  _ Spock _ \- who loved him more than anything. The man waggled his eyebrows in a way Jim was entirely familiar with.

“If I’d sung that to your face, you’d have run out on me. So this is for your own private collection. Watch it when I’m on an away mission.” The man tilted his head and laughed. “No, not an away mission. You’d be right there with me!”

His counterpart leaned closer to the camera. Those eyes were hypnotizing; green and brown and gold, tenacious and tender all the same. His face was an open book bursting with fondness as if he were simply made of it. “Watch it when you need me. It’s all yours, just like the rest of me. I love you, Spock, and that won't ever change. Happy birthday."

One last smile, a meaningful look that could pierce any heart, and the holovid ended.

"Do not cry," Stel whispered, setting the PADD aside to press tighter to Jim's side and wipe fruitlessly at his tears. “It is alright.”

His own words were being used against him. He took in a sharp breath to try and keep everything from rushing out, but the pressure in his chest was building and building and everything was crashing down. 

He had watched his own abridged, theoretical life and all the beautiful, terrible parts of it. And it ripped through him, the idea that he had  _ nothing _ , that this adventure on New Vulcan was just a dream and it would eventually end. He’d have to go back to the Enterprise and he would never see Stel again and Spock would never be his.

God, _ Spock _ .

Dark eyes haunted him. The raw, unfiltered love the ambassador had for this alternate Kirk was overwhelming and all he could think of was how he’d never be on the receiving end of such a wonderful thing, not in this reality. It had diverged too far and they had become different people with different responsibilities; their path together had come to an end, never to intertwine again. If he couldn’t convince Spock to come back to the Enterprise, what would he have? Memories that weren’t meant to be his of a man who loved a better version of him? To know of a relationship strong enough to last across time and space and it wasn’t his own? A taste of a life where he could be surrounded by Spock, to wake up to his warm eyes and secret smiles and pure, subtle affection, only to have it ripped away when he came back to the real world?

It was just cruel.

He knew he was spiraling, but he couldn’t stop. He rolled onto his side to face the wall and Stel followed, curling up in the space between and apologizing, trying to appease Jim with soft words and precious touches. If Stel had felt what he’d projected at him earlier, there was no doubt he could feel the thundering hopelessness radiating from him, the dejection bleeding out his heart. And that hurt even more, that he was making Stel feel all his problems. Guilt was eating away at him like a fast-acting acid and he was being swallowed up. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep it all away. 

“It is alright,” Stel tried to tell him, but it wasn’t.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't have been able to finish this chapter without help from [Slashisfamilyhistory](https://slashisfamilyhistory.tumblr.com/) who is just so good to me!!! I can't thank you enough!

When he woke up to a stray sunbeam hitting his eye, he realized he had slept through the rest of the day and it was already morning. He felt bad about missing dinner, but he had been physically and emotionally exhausted. His body was in desperate need of a break and it was tired of waiting for Jim to give it one.

Stel wasn’t in his bed and hadn’t come to wake him. Of course Jim had scared him away with all that pent up misery just begging to break out. Jim pressed a hand to his face, massaging his tender eyes and temples. He hadn’t cried that hard in years and the shame of it weighed heavy in his gut. He shouldn’t be ashamed- he knew it was irrational, but he wanted to be too strong to cry. He was a starship captain and shouldn’t buckle under pressure, even in his off time. To think a couple holovids could reduce him to tears in a child’s arms. And now Stel had had to see all that weakness, feel it.

Jim sighed into his pillow so hard that his lungs twinged from being empty. He wished he could stay in bed all day and not have to deal with the guilt and embarrassment and apologies. He listened to the wind chimes tinkling from outside the window and the hauntingly beautiful song of alien birds. Spock had once told him about the silver birds on Vulcan and how sweet they’d sounded, how they would only sing at dawn. He vaguely wondered if these birds sounded anything close to the original, if Vulcans found peace in having something so familiar to home or if it reminded them of their loss. If he focused, he could hear drills and lasers and stones being chipped into shape. He took another deep breath and listened to the sounds of an old broken civilization making a new one out of the ashes.

Measured steps, much too precise and heavy to be Stel, padded against the synthetic wood floor, followed by a soft knock on his door. Jim rubbed at his eyes one last time to make sure there weren’t any more dried tears.

“Come,” Jim commanded out of habit. But as Spock opened the door, Jim debated if he could even look at him. After seeing the ambassador with all that naked emotion -all that love for Jim, but not really  _ Jim- _ , he wondered if he could look into those same eyes and handle the lack of it. Yet he couldn’t just ignore him forever and Jim wasn’t a coward, so he turned his head and looked up. Spock met his gaze with dark calm eyes, warm in their own strange way, always calculating and curious. They weren’t as bright or as delicate as the ambassador’s, but they weren’t emotionless like he used to think they were; they were different. They were, surprisingly, prefered.

“Are you well?” Spock asked quietly. Jim appraised himself; he was dehydrated, if the pulsing headache and dry mouth was anything to go by, but at least he wasn’t dizzy anymore; the long nap had done him well. He nodded against the pillow gently.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

The silence that followed felt long and weird, but maybe that was just him. Spock didn’t seem put off by the awkwardness, perfectly stoic and attentive. Jim felt the need to make himself somewhat presentable but when he tried to sit up, pain burst behind his eyes and he inhaled sharply.

“Do not attempt to move too quickly. You are still suffering from heat exhaustion.”

Spock swept over to him, setting one hand behind Jim’s back to help him upright while the other offered a glass of water. Jim took a sip and it instantly cured his sticky tongue and dry throat. A hypospray was placed into his hand delicately.

“Vitamins,” Spock explained. Begrudgingly, Jim pressed it to his neck and flinched at the telltale hiss. Spock looked pleased, or as pleased as he’d allow himself to look, so he guessed it wasn’t that terrible. The warm hand removed itself from his back and Jim cleared his throat to hide his disappointment.

“What time is it?”

“It is currently 1320.”

Jim grimaced and it made his head pulse. He’d practically slept the whole day away. “I missed taking Stel to school.”

Spock nodded. “Yes. However, he understood that you needed further rest.”

Jim frowned and took another drink of water. He had hoped to apologize for his outburst before Stel went to school so neither would have to dwell on it all day. He hoped Stel wasn’t too upset with him and it wasn’t affecting his studies. As the guilt burned in his blood, his empty stomach let itself be known with a low aggravated sound. Jim cringed but let an embarrassed smile settle on his face.

“Sorry, I’m starving.”

Spock gently tilted his head. “That is to be expected. I will prepare a meal for you.”

Jim wanted to tell him he didn’t have to- it was a replicator, nothing he hadn’t seen before. But he’d let Spock play the gracious host if he wanted to. He wouldn’t admit that he enjoyed the domesticity of it, even to himself. His smile was nearly genuine now and he thanked Spock as he closed the door, letting him get ready for the day.

There was a sudden desperate need for a shower as he realized the sweat of yesterday had caked into white salt on his skin and there was probably a pound of dust in his hair. Again, a cold water shower would have been amazing, but the sonic at least made him feel like he’s been blasted clean, soft with brand new skin. He’d take his luxuries where he could get them.

After dressing and fiddling with his hair before giving up, knowing it would all curl up with sweat anyway, he wandered into the kitchen. Spock had set up a place for him at the table with what looked like a traditional American breakfast; eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, and a perfect stack of pancakes complete with a thick pat of butter and a cup of syrup. From across the table, Spock acknowledged Jim with a look and took a gentle sip of his tea. Jim laughed as he sat down in front of the giant meal.

“This is a bit excessive. I would’ve been fine with just a sandwich.”

“I believe your exact phrase was ‘I’m starving’.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know how much I like to exaggerate.”

Spock didn’t answer, but the lightning quick glimmer of amusement in his eyes gave it away. He chose that moment to take another sip of tea as if to hide a smile and Jim marveled at just how coy Spock was playing. He felt his heart give a little punch to his ribs. 

Was he flirting? Were they flirting?

The word ‘no’ slammed into him at warp nine. This was just their normal back and forth banter, the kind of thing that’d become so normal over the years. The only thing that had changed was that Jim had seen those damn holovids and suddenly he was seeing something that wasn’t there. He was imagining Spock giving him that easy indulgent smile like the ambassador had when he talked about Jim- no, no,  _ his _ Jim. Not him. Never him.

It was just wishful thinking, as per usual.

Jim dug into his eggs and willed his brain to slow the hell down, just shut up and eat. As he took a bite, he noticed that his was the only food on the table. 

“Did you already eat?”

“Vulcans do not require as much sustenance as humans. One meal a day will suffice.”

Jim took a sip of orange juice. “So you skipped breakfast too?”

“Affirmative. Stel does not particularly care for meals in the morning so we have our meals in the evening.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the way he drags his feet, would it?”

“I have ascertained as much. He prefers to use his time to rest until the last possible moment.”

“Can’t really blame him,” Jim said as he speared a sausage with his fork. “School wasn’t too fun for me either when I was a kid.”

Spock locked eyes with him for a long moment, long enough to make Jim think there must have been food on his face. He wiped his knuckles across his mouth as subtly as he could, which probably wasn’t subtle at all. Spock gently lowered his head and smoothed his long fingers over his ceramic cup.

“Then we all share a commonality in that aspect.”

Jim gave him a bittersweet smile. “It must be a universal constant.”

In that moment, the air between them was comfortable and pleasant, despite the underlying memories they’d prefer not to remember. Jim reveled in it, that soft easiness he’d come to find time and time again aboard the Enterprise. From disastrous missions to boring milk runs, Spock was always there with a chess board and a hot cup of coffee after it all. It was that quiet camaraderie that let Jim unwind and forget about his responsibilities, the bureaucratic hurdles, the crewmen he’d lost, his failures. Spock could make him forget anything and everything.

And he was forgetting himself right then too. Jim sat up straight, blinking away the droopiness of his eyelids; God, he must have been spacing out like some lovestruck idiot. Spock drank his tea and didn’t indicate that he’d noticed, maybe brushing it off as awkward silence, maybe to spare Jim’s pride. Regardless, he was looking as unfazed as ever, positively regal in his dark robes, layers perfectly folded and trimmed in gold. They seemed much more formal than his outfit from yesterday and could only be described as princely.

“What’s with the fancy robes?”

“My father has invited us to dinner tonight. I have dressed accordingly.”

Jim’s fork clattered against the plate a little too loudly as he tried not to choke. He coughed and Spock gave him a discerning look. “Sorry. I, um- does he know I’m here? I mean, I don’t want to impose.”

“He is aware. It was the purpose of the dinner invitation.”

Christ. The last thing he wanted to do was be around Sarek. The man was way too perceptive, even beyond Spock levels, and had eyes sharp enough to cut you to pieces. And he still hadn’t apologized for all the shit he’d said back then. Now he was inviting him over for a dinner party? He was probably going to sit him down and say something like  _ your emotionality is a negative influence toward both my son and his ward and you must cease relations with them.  _ But it wasn’t like he could refuse the invitation, especially to a Federation ambassador of all people. He wasn’t a coward. He was captain of a starship, he reminded himself again. A goddamn captain. 

Jim shrugged off his trepidation. “I don’t have anything to wear,” he protested lightly.

Spock’s eyes moved in a quick up and down motion as they assessed Jim, who shivered at the idea of Spock looking at him the same way he looked at Spock. “Your current clothing will suffice. My father will not criticise your manner of dress.”

_ Like hell he won’t. _ Jim gave him a sly smile. “Then why are  _ you _ dressed so fancy, Commander?”

The subtle startled look in Spock’s eyes and the way he squared his shoulders gave Jim far too much pleasure. “This is a common style of Vulcan robe.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jim teased, poking at his food. “Whatever you say.”

Spock turned his head away in reluctant resignation. After a short moment of silence, he spoke as if the words were being forced from him. “While my father would not be openly critical of your choices, as his son and member of House Surak, I have different expectations.”

Jim couldn’t say he was familiar with father-son dynamics, but he could understand not wanting to be on the receiving end of Sarek’s stink eye. “You know, I was gonna ask if I could borrow some of your clothes anyway. I don’t like the way everyone looks at me like I’m an alien.”

“Since you are not of our culture, you are by definition an alien, Captain,” Spock informed him. Jim rolled his eyes. “Though I would not be averse to offering you an outfit for the occasion.”

“Cool, a dress up party! I hope you have something that will compliment my eyes.”

Spock did not answer, but Jim was sure a smile was trying to fight its way onto that Vulcan face. As Jim stood and began gathering his plates, Spock stood as well.

“You have not finished eating.”

“Did you honestly think I could eat all this?”

“I have observed you consume at this rate of volume previously.”

“Gee, thanks,” Jim laughed.

After a quick cleanup, Spock led him to his bedroom. Jim took a deep breath as he entered into the only room he hadn’t seen yet- the most private room in the house. It had the same minimalist design as everything else and the rich red tapestry hanging over the bed matched the one in the living room, similar to the ones on the Enterprise. The furthest corner of the room had a black foam mat laid out on the ground and an ornate plate of incense beside it. Floating shelves lined the walls, old books and trinket boxes carefully placed upon them. He spotted a single photo near the nightstand. He would have taken a closer look at it, but Spock herded him into his walk-in closet.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, because it was worthy of an expletive. It was easily the biggest closet he’d ever seen, with rows and rows of fine garments in varying shades of blacks. Not that the lack of variety was a bad thing; Spock looked so goddamn good in black. There was a short row of other colors, including what looked like a red cadet suit and a pearly gray dress uniform. Spock walked past Jim to that section, filing over the hangers until he pulled out a high-collared white tunic followed by a rich blue robe and a matching cloak with wide sleeves. The fabric shimmered like the sea.

“These would compliment your eyes, as you requested.”

Jim choked on his tongue. Spock was  _ playing _ with him. The smile on his face was wide enough to hurt. “Never took you for the fashionable type.”

“You have not seen me outside of Starfleet regulation uniforms until now. Taking pride in my appearance is a weakness I have yet to overcome,” Spock said. 

“Spock, I share a bathroom with you. I know how long it takes you to get ready in the morning,” Jim laughed and went to collect the outfit, but Spock held them back. 

“Please disrobe.”

“I’m sorry, what?” His heart thumped loudly.

“You will need assistance in its assembly. Please remove your shirt.”

Jim gave him a suspicious look, but he couldn’t deny the feeling that Spock was still messing with him and he didn’t want this playful moment to end. So he offered his most mischievous smile, tugged his shirt off, and threw it aside.

Spock removed the tunic from the hanger and handed it over. It was probably Jim’s imagination that made him think there was a sudden tint to Spock’s cheeks, a glimmer of something in his dark eyes as they drifted down his bare chest. 

He fought his way into the tunic; the shoulders were a little strained, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Spock wordlessly stepped around him to zip up the back, making the high collar tight around his neck. No wonder Vulcans held their heads so high! He couldn’t lower his chin without the fabric rumpling against his throat. He felt Spock pull the blue robe over the tunic, slipping it over his arms. When Spock came back to face him, layering the front like a kimono, Jim couldn’t ignore how intimate it felt. Long fingers smoothed over his chest tenderly, slowly, and Jim wanted to meet his eyes but they stayed trained to the task at hand. Spock turned back to the rows of clothing and took out a wide black belt encrusted with polished red stones. Jim inhaled tightly as arms wrapped around him to set the belt, their chests meeting gently. Spock moved his head to the right so their faces wouldn’t crash together, as  _ tempting _ as that was, and Jim was so close to his pale slender neck he could breathe him in. He smelled like woody cologne and spice and Jim could probably sustain himself for the rest of his life on that smell alone. His arms, held up to give Spock room to work, itched to slide over those straight shoulders and sharp shoulder blades. They begged to touch and feel and hold.

Spock pulled away and Jim was immediately cold and bereft, breathless and starved. He’d just missed a perfect opportunity. He should have moved his head just an inch forward, kissed the chord of his neck, pressed his cheek to his jaw, embraced him. But he hadn’t done any of that and he wondered, in a brief flash of panic, if he’d ever have that beautiful feeling again.

The blue cloak gleamed as it swayed off the hanger and Spock arranged it over him, tugging at the front to make sure the silk fell in waves. As Spock stepped back to give him a once over, Jim felt a twinge of nervousness, but stood as straight and proper as a Vulcan.

“What do you think?”

Spock gave a slow nod. “It is agreeable. Are you comfortable?”

Jim looked down at himself, the fabric following his movements. It was long enough to touch the floor and he hoped he wouldn’t be tripping over it all day. He expected it to be heavy due to all the layers, but it was surprisingly light and breathable.

“Yeah. Feels like I’m going to a wedding or something, though. You sure this isn’t too formal?”

“It is more formal than casual wear but certainly not formal enough for a marriage ceremony.”

“Fair enough,” Jim chuckled. “I guess I should be trying to impress your dad too, huh? Can’t have him thinking you hang out with scummy miscreants.”

“I am certain my father holds you in high regard, Jim.”

It made him start, made his smile stutter. “No,” and he couldn’t hold back the self-deprecating laugh, “He’s only ever seen me at my worst.”

“While he has only met you once, I have informed him of your development and achievements in our communications since.”

A jolt of astonishment gave him whiplash. “You’ve been talking about me to your dad?”

“As you are present for a majority of my notable experiences aboard the Enterprise, and indeed, a majority of all my experiences, it would be illogical to exclude you from my narrative.”

“Oh,” is all he could say because fire and ice was flooding his veins and drowning him. His first thought was just how endearing the idea of Spock regaling their adventures to his father was. His next thought was wondering what the hell he’d been telling Sarek. Did he tell him about that time he switched bodies with his crazy ex-girlfriend, who then took over the ship and tried to murder him? Or the time he lost his memory and became some sort of Native American messiah? Or that time with the tribbles?

“He has only been informed of positive experiences.” 

“Oh thank God,” Jim sighed. A single angular eyebrow raised at him and he had to laugh.

It was nearly time to collect Stel and as they made their way to the front door, Jim took care to stand tall and walk carefully or else the robes would catch under his feet. Spock offered him the umbrella, but stopped to give him one last glance, like a parent making sure their child didn’t look like a complete mess before leaving the house. Jim watched helplessly as Spock reached forward and slid his thumb along the side of his collar to straighten it. Their bare skin met for a single second and Jim thought his lungs would burst. Spock’s touch always knocked the air right out of him and he couldn’t tell if it was just him or if it was some sort of Vulcan voodoo, as Bones so eloquently put it. Regardless, it was both exciting and terrifying; he wanted more of that feeling, but he couldn’t possibly put that desire into words, couldn’t possibly ask for it. He shivered as Spock opened the door and hit him with a rush of fiery air.

The trip to the academy was quiet, which Jim kind of loved. They didn’t need to say anything; they could just enjoy the subtle sounds of New Vulcan and be content. It was like all those times they’d walked side by side down the bright corridors of the Enterprise: delicate, pleasant, as if just being within each other’s space made everything okay. Companionable silence had been their own secret language.

Dressed up like this, he felt closer to Spock, like this was how it felt to be Vulcan on some minor level. He kept his head held high, his steps gentle. The robes bounced against his knees and ankles when he moved which was an odd feeling, but the shifting of the fabric created a constant breeze and helped with the heat. Jim kicked out at the hem of his robes, seeing that it was dipped in red dust as it dragged along the ground. He felt bad for getting it dirty so quickly. It didn’t help that he was dabbing sweat away with his long beautiful sleeves, but it was better than having a waterfall for a face.

They took refuge in the same gazebo as yesterday. Jim leaned against one of the posts and made sure not to touch any part that had been in the sunlight. He took a deep breath to urge away the discomfort of the heat and it was only then that he noticed Spock was staring at him, not even bothering to hide it. Jim self-consciously tugged at his robes.

“What? Did I mess it up?”

“No,” Spock assured him. His face remained impassive and Jim was having trouble reading whatever that look was. He would have explicitly asked why Spock was staring, but knowing how embarrassed he gets about being called out, it would just make him clam up. Eventually, Spock gave his answer freely. “I am merely comparing ourselves in regards to the robes I have lent you. I believe they are much more appealing on you than they are on myself.”

Astonishment kicked Jim in the chest and made him gasp. The grin that hit his lips probably looked dopey as hell, but he couldn’t help it. “Thank you, Mr. Spock. You’re pretty appealing yourself.”

Spock only turned his head toward the academy, maybe to try and keep Jim from seeing the gentle look on his face. But it was too late. He’d already seen it and was taking in every little bit of it. Unfortunately, with Spock’s punctuality, Jim couldn’t enjoy it for too long, as Stel parted through the busy school grounds only moments later. He looked worn down, exhausted even, and when he saw Jim, his face seemed to morph into something sad and distant. Jim felt his throat close up and remain painfully tight as Stel refused to meet his eyes.

It was worse than he thought, then. Whatever Stel had felt from him had stripped away something essential- trust, maybe. The openness had dulled away to apprehension, like he was afraid to say or do the wrong thing in front of him. The hero worship was gone.

“Are you well?” Spock asked, because of course he would, when his son looked like his sehlat just died. Stel nodded curtly and looked like he was trying his damndest to pull a proper Vulcan face.

“Yes, sa-mekh.”

Spock wanted to challenge him; Jim could tell by the tightening of his mouth and the minute crinkle between his eyebrows. He might have doubted Stel, but he had been raised to be honest, so it was unlikely that he suddenly learned how to lie. Instead, he returned the nod and spoke stiffly. “Come. We will be dining with your grandfather tonight.”

Jim didn’t think it was possible for Stel to look anymore miserable, but he did. His bottom lip trembled and his eyes grew big and upset. He concluded that Stel must have felt the same way about Sarek that he did. Spock had either not noticed Stel’s obvious panic or had intentionally ignored it because he simply turned and walked out of the gazebo for them to follow.

The walk to Sarek’s was the worst. Stel kept tightly to Spock’s side without even glancing over at Jim. He couldn’t even try to talk to Stel without Spock overhearing and learning about the apparent universal constants of Kirks and Spocks and his captain’s inappropriate infatuation with him. He couldn’t apologize, couldn’t assure him that he still loved him, that he was still someone he could confide in.

It was ruining Jim. He was already missing his little smiles and obvious adoration. He should be ashamed with how quickly he’d gotten himself attached, but his self-awareness didn’t make it hurt any less. Having someone love him unconditionally had spoiled him. And now he was losing it all just because he couldn’t keep it together, because beneath his bravado he was  _ weak _ . He tightened the reins on the sick feeling bubbling up inside him.

He had hoped that he wouldn’t show up on Sarek’s doorstep looking like a hot mess, but it just wasn’t going to happen. The walk was longer than it was home and the mid-afternoon suns were feeling personally spiteful toward him today. By the time they arrived, Jim was trying desperately to mop up his face, which only messed up his soaked hair and got sweat into his stinging eyes. He took a deep breath to puff out his chest and look like the captain he was, but it all wooshed out of him the instant the door opened.

“You!” he exclaimed. All eyes turned to Jim.

“It is I,” the woman from the transport station answered. She looked just as posh and incredibly pregnant as she had when they’d first met. Jim opened his mouth to ask, but Spock beat him to the punch.

“Captain, this is T’pring, my father’s personal assistant.”

T’pring gave Spock a blank look and Jim suspected that Spock had only told half the truth. Apparently Vulcans didn’t believe lying by omission was actually lying. Whatever the case, he wasn’t about to start asking questions he had no business asking. At least until he was alone with Spock and then all bets were off.

“Come,” she said, standing aside to usher them in.

Jim nearly cried as he stepped forward into a rush of cool air. Sarek had generously adjusted the climate for his human guest and as terrified as he was, Jim couldn’t help but be incredibly grateful. He felt the sweat start to turn cold against his skin and he reveled in the feeling.

“Sarek will be present shortly,” T’pring announced before moving gracefully into what Jim assumed was the kitchen. As they were left alone in the living room, he turned to Stel to try and start a conversation, anything to break the ice, but he had already scurried off down a hallway. Jim sighed. Later, then.

Sarek’s home was as Spartan and perfectly organized as Spock’s, with bright white walls and minimalist furniture. There was a staircase that led up to the second story and Jim was quick to notice the collection of photos on the wall beneath it. They certainly didn’t match the clean Vulcan style of the rest of the house; the frames were shabby, mismatched, and hung in a lovingly clumsy way that was decidedly human. Jim moved closer for a better look and Spock followed.

“My mother considered herself an amateur photographer,” he explained, the warmth in his voice obvious. A majority of the photos were of a very young Spock, not much older than Stel, with a curious face that seemed to be lacking his current Vulcan repression. Either he hadn’t mastered it yet or his human mother had encouraged him otherwise. Most of the photos were candid shots, including one of Spock sticking his fingers into a dark sludgy puddle on a city street somewhere on Earth, a look of apprehensive confusion clear in his wide eyes. Another photo showed him holding an ice cream cone with bewildered amazement. Another showed Spock digging in a sandy desert garden, oblivious to the red dust covering his sleeves and knees. He looked so sweet and pure and it turned Jim’s insides to mush.

“You were so cute!”

Jim looked to Spock for a reaction and he got one; it was a flicker of shock, of amusement, embarrassment, before it all blanked out. The shade of Spock’s face may or may not have gone a bit more green. “I believe that was my mother’s sentiment as well.”

Jim laughed as he took in the rest of the photos. The pictures of Sarek were less fun. Nearly every one was of him looking straight into the camera with his typical hard expression. There were no candid shots- probably because it was impossible to catch him by surprise. But in the family photo, with all three of them standing close together for a portrait, Jim could swear his face was just a touch softer. And how could he not look like that, standing next to such a beautiful woman? Her honey-brown hair was done up under a colorful headscarf and her cheerful eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled at the camera. In her arms was her precious son, clinging to her like she were the sun and stars, and it was so clear how fundamental she was to both of them. She had the face of a perfect mother- warm, patient, loving. He felt it grab hold of him.

“I would have liked to meet her,” he found himself saying, as if the wish couldn’t remain inside and Jim just couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut. He stared up at a picture of his first officer in a dark sweater relaxing on a sofa, his legs tucked up under himself and a steaming cup in his hands. He must have been a decade younger and his eyes, black as andradite, gazed into the camera with a peaceful contentedness he’d never seen on him before. It was something lost to time, when things were easier and he had a reason to look like that.

“She would have liked you,” Spock told him. Jim probably looked like he didn’t believe him because he continued. “She had a passionate demeanor similar to your own.”

He looked at a picture of her trying to keep her wide-brimmed sun hat from flying away in the breeze, an open-mouthed smile as genuine as they come. The photo was out of focus and the afternoon sun made the lighting atrocious, but it must have been taken by Spock and that was enough for it to make it onto the wall. 

Jim would have said something sappy- maybe about what a compliment that was, what an honor it was to be compared to her, and that would have been just another one of those foot-in-the-mouth moments he was so prone to these days. But thankfully, Stel had returned with an armful of crayons and paper and Jim snapped right back to the mission at hand.

“Hey, buddy,” Jim greeted. Stel immediately turned away from them without a glance, making his way to an empty corner of the living room and depositing the items into a pile. He kneeled with his back to them in an obvious show of rejection and got to work on coloring. Spock loomed over Jim’s shoulder, the question silent but demanding.

“It’s fine,” Jim said to him with a raised hand. “I’ll talk to him.”

Spock was still giving him that look, the one he put on when Jim gives one of his famous strategies that are genius wrapped in a stupid package. He was suspicious, doubtful, but he still trusted Jim because he’d proved himself too many damn times for him not to. So he simply stood up straight and gave a soft nod, but it wasn’t entirely there, like there was something he still didn’t understand and it was bugging him. But Spock said nothing and Jim wasn’t going to push if Spock wasn’t ready to talk yet.

He walked to Stel’s side and gave Spock one final look- it was meant to reassure him, but deep down, it was to make sure he wasn’t eavesdropping. All this sneaking around made Jim feel like a jerk. Don’t let this go to shit, he reminded himself.

“Hey,” Jim whispered as he slowly sank down to his knees. When that didn’t get a response, he sat down all the way and crossed his legs. He watched Stel scribbling on his paper. He wasn’t even drawing; it was just angry marks, up and down, long and deep, colors cross hatched into a mess of brown. It was therapeutic. Jim felt his chest grow tight and he hoped his voice wouldn’t break when he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Stel’s head shot up and he finally looked at him, his eyes wide and confused and lined a deep green. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

Jim wasn’t really expecting that. “Why wouldn’t I? I made you upset.”

Stel’s winged eyebrows cinched together even tighter and his little lips quivered. “You are simply attempting to spare my feelings. I am the one who has made you upset.”

He was more lost than ever. Stel had been avoiding him, not the other way around. “Why would I be upset with you?”

The boy’s shoulders shook and his eyes became glassy with tears. “I forced you to watch the messages and you became distressed. You have taken me to sa-mekh-al because you and sa-mekh do not wish to care for me any longer.”

The waterworks couldn’t be stopped once they started. Stel dropped his head and let the shivering sobs wrack his tiny body. It was devastating to watch and the miserable little whimpers only made it cut deeper. Jim clambered forward, drawing Stel into his lap and cocooning him in the long sleeves of his robes.

“Shh, no, no,” Jim whispered into his hair, his fingers sliding over the thick silky strands as if he were petting a kitten. He hadn’t even noticed he’d started rocking back and forth until the room started to tilt. His words were as soft as he could make them. “That’s not true.”

Stel valiantly tried to speak through the mucus collecting in his throat. His voice was garbled and every word hitched at least twice, but it was forceful and seizing with pain. “It is! I felt it! You were sad and angry and you would not speak to me! I have hurt you and this is my punishment!”

It was impossible to hold Stel to him any tighter, but Jim found a way. He pressed his cheek against Stel’s crown until they were wrapped around each other like a mournful yin and yang. “I was sad and angry, but not with you. You didn’t do anything wrong and we aren’t leaving you here.”

Stel let out a wounded cry and Jim shushed him delicately. He could see Spock from across the room, wishing he could help and trying not to look uncomfortable. He was clearly out of his depth, but honestly, so was Jim. He was playing everything by ear and going off the little experience he had. He remembered the way his mom would card her fingers through his hair, rub circles into his back, and just let him cry it out. Times like that were when he had felt closest to her. He didn’t know if this was helping Stel at all but he wanted to believe it was.

“I’m sorry I made you think I was mad at you,” Jim breathed. “I was just sad thinking about not being with you and Spock anymore.”

“Then do not leave,” Stel cried into Jim’s robes. “Do not leave us!”

Jim had already told him it wasn’t so simple. This was all so complicated and painful and now Jim couldn’t imagine living another day without either of them. He wanted to promise Stel he wouldn’t, but he didn’t know how any of this was going to play out. And the last thing he wanted to do was break Stel’s heart even more. What could he possibly say? Jim calmly hushed the whimpers and curled his body over the boy like a shield.

“Captain.”

His head snapped up at the stoney voice and there was Sarek, standing tall at the top of the staircase. His face was rigid and betrayed nothing, solemn and dignified and  _ dangerous _ . He gazed down at them with eyes that pierced like needles, running through Jim like he was nothing but an old pincushion, and Jim knew this was going downhill, crashing and burning.

“I see you have met my grandson.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @ [ Froggyflan](https://froggyflan.tumblr.com/)


End file.
